Crank (Crank 1)

always like the person you find

inside. I could deal with that. The

bigger problem was discovering Bree

didnÙt really give a damn about liking me.

I Spent the Next Day

helping Mom can tomatoes.

It was an annual event and I

had always hated the tedious

chore. But the last tiny tendrils

of ecstasy, infiltrating me, somehow

made it enjoyable. I didn’t even mind

my mom’s company. In fact, my mood

seemed to rub off on her. She didn’t once

bitch, though she enthusiastically quizzed

me about the previous evening’s activities.

This very big part of me wanted to confess,

to ask forgiveness, request help. Oh, I knew

my bad habits had escalated, and if Kristina

had had her way that day, well, who knows?

But over the last few weeks, Bree had grown

stronger and her argument—that Mom might

put her away, far removed from friends, Chase,

and all personal choice—was feasible. So I

refused to waver from the concert and long

conversation excuse. And when she asked

about drugs, I summoned every ounce of

righteous indignation I could muster and

denied touching a thing except a toke or

two of weed. I knew she wouldn’t be

too upset about that. And by the time