Chapter One
It was another one of those face-the-music moments. Yelling parents — they make heavy metal sound like a fairy tale. With a sigh, I slid off the back of Gabe’s street bike and took off my helmet. I handed it to him and he hooked it onto the bike, a Kawasaki Ninja. I was glad he kept the motor running. It was after midnight, and I wanted everyone in Winnipeg to see this. Here I was, comingback from a date with Gabe Jordan — the cutest guy in the West. Finally, he’d dumped his old girlfriend and picked up me. I hoped my parents were hiding behind the living room curtains, getting a good eyeball.
We set a world record for the longest kiss. Then Gabe said into my ear, “Call me tomorrow, Dime.”
I stood and watched him roar off down the street. Now everyone in the neighborhood would know about my love life. Tomorrow morning the phone lines would be buzzing with gossip. Mom would be so embarrassed. I grinned, thinking about it. At the same time, my stomach bunched into a tight sore lump. I wished I was driving Gabe’s Ninja — down the street and on into forever. But no, Gabe got to disappear. I had to go inside and deal with the Two-Headed Monster that was my parents.
First things first — I took out my nose ring. Mom thinks only drug dealers wear nose rings. Last time she saw me wearing it, she said I was grounded until I grew up. I never paid any attention to the grounding — I didn’thave time to waste, sitting around the house. But I did stop wearing my nose ring at home. Life is a lot easier if a parent isn’t blocking the door when you want to go out.
As I went up the front walk, I got ready for battle. I made my eyes look really bored and pulled my mouth into a pout. I was really good at this — I’d spent hours practicing in front of my bedroom mirror. Looking bored was my best defense. It drove my parents crazy, and then they gave up on whatever argument we were having.
Slowly, I pulled open the front door. Arms crossed, Mom stood in the front hall wearing her Terminator face.
“Just where have you been?” she asked.
“Out,” I said. I pulled off my jacket and hung it up.
It was always Die Hard III in our house, only the weapons were our mouths. Dad appeared behind Mom, on Info-Search.
“Out where?” he asked.
I kicked off my boots and started to push past them. Dad took my shoulders in hishands — not hard, just enough to keep me there. Then he yelled, “You were supposed to be home at nine.”
“So, did you call the cops?” I asked.
Fifteen years old and I had to be in at nine. It was ridiculous. To make things worse, when I came in late, Dad would start yelling. I’d put on my extra-bored face, and he’d yell even louder. Sometimes he got to me. My defense system would crumble and I’d go nuclear. I hated it when I yelled back, but I often ended up doing it.
“This is our house and we make the rules, Dime. If we say you’re home at nine, that’s when you walk in the door! No excuses!” Dad shouted.
Their house, not mine . For a moment, my eyes burned, and I thought I was about to cry. Then I got it under control. I slid a smile over my mouth and looked him straight in the eye.
“Make me,” I said softly.
He looked as if he might hit me. Then he roared, “No respect! You’ve got no respectfor your parents or anyone else. We work hard to put food on the table. You’re out there blowing your mind on drugs. Flunking school. Dressed like you’re in a street gang. Look at your hair. And you’re running around with some guy twice your age.”
Gabe is seventeen. My parents seriously needed to get real. I took a deep breath and started arguing back.
“I’m almost sixteen! You treat me like I’m twelve. My friends don’t have to be in until midnight on Fridays,” I said, still trying to keep cool.
“You used to be such a sweet little girl. How did you turn into such a problem?” Mom moaned.
“I dunno. Maybe it’s all those drugs you say I’m
It was another one of those face-the-music moments. Yelling parents — they make heavy metal sound like a fairy tale. With a sigh, I slid off the back of Gabe’s street bike and took off my helmet. I handed it to him and he hooked it onto the bike, a Kawasaki Ninja. I was glad he kept the motor running. It was after midnight, and I wanted everyone in Winnipeg to see this. Here I was, comingback from a date with Gabe Jordan — the cutest guy in the West. Finally, he’d dumped his old girlfriend and picked up me. I hoped my parents were hiding behind the living room curtains, getting a good eyeball.
We set a world record for the longest kiss. Then Gabe said into my ear, “Call me tomorrow, Dime.”
I stood and watched him roar off down the street. Now everyone in the neighborhood would know about my love life. Tomorrow morning the phone lines would be buzzing with gossip. Mom would be so embarrassed. I grinned, thinking about it. At the same time, my stomach bunched into a tight sore lump. I wished I was driving Gabe’s Ninja — down the street and on into forever. But no, Gabe got to disappear. I had to go inside and deal with the Two-Headed Monster that was my parents.
First things first — I took out my nose ring. Mom thinks only drug dealers wear nose rings. Last time she saw me wearing it, she said I was grounded until I grew up. I never paid any attention to the grounding — I didn’thave time to waste, sitting around the house. But I did stop wearing my nose ring at home. Life is a lot easier if a parent isn’t blocking the door when you want to go out.
As I went up the front walk, I got ready for battle. I made my eyes look really bored and pulled my mouth into a pout. I was really good at this — I’d spent hours practicing in front of my bedroom mirror. Looking bored was my best defense. It drove my parents crazy, and then they gave up on whatever argument we were having.
Slowly, I pulled open the front door. Arms crossed, Mom stood in the front hall wearing her Terminator face.
“Just where have you been?” she asked.
“Out,” I said. I pulled off my jacket and hung it up.
It was always Die Hard III in our house, only the weapons were our mouths. Dad appeared behind Mom, on Info-Search.
“Out where?” he asked.
I kicked off my boots and started to push past them. Dad took my shoulders in hishands — not hard, just enough to keep me there. Then he yelled, “You were supposed to be home at nine.”
“So, did you call the cops?” I asked.
Fifteen years old and I had to be in at nine. It was ridiculous. To make things worse, when I came in late, Dad would start yelling. I’d put on my extra-bored face, and he’d yell even louder. Sometimes he got to me. My defense system would crumble and I’d go nuclear. I hated it when I yelled back, but I often ended up doing it.
“This is our house and we make the rules, Dime. If we say you’re home at nine, that’s when you walk in the door! No excuses!” Dad shouted.
Their house, not mine . For a moment, my eyes burned, and I thought I was about to cry. Then I got it under control. I slid a smile over my mouth and looked him straight in the eye.
“Make me,” I said softly.
He looked as if he might hit me. Then he roared, “No respect! You’ve got no respectfor your parents or anyone else. We work hard to put food on the table. You’re out there blowing your mind on drugs. Flunking school. Dressed like you’re in a street gang. Look at your hair. And you’re running around with some guy twice your age.”
Gabe is seventeen. My parents seriously needed to get real. I took a deep breath and started arguing back.
“I’m almost sixteen! You treat me like I’m twelve. My friends don’t have to be in until midnight on Fridays,” I said, still trying to keep cool.
“You used to be such a sweet little girl. How did you turn into such a problem?” Mom moaned.
“I dunno. Maybe it’s all those drugs you say I’m
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