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