Fallout (Crank 3)

my license. Said my eyes

don’t work so good anymore.

Hate to admit they’re right.

The banter picks up speed in

the kitchen as Mom and Misty

and Leigh and Kristina start

yakking girl talk. Enough, already.

I’m on my way to the family room

when the doorbell rings. Nikki?

She’s early, but that’s all good.

I swing the door open. “Nik!”

Autumn

THIS HOUSE IS INSANE

Insane, as in beautiful.

I stand on the front porch,

staring up at the tall doors.

Oak, with beveled stained glass.

I wait for the familiar tingle

in my fingers. But I don’t

feel close to panic. I reach

out. Ring the doorbell.

The door jerks open. Nik!

But I’m not Nik, whoever he

is, and the boy who is waiting

for him is confused. Uh …

Can I help you? He is older

than me by a year or two,

with mink-colored hair and

eyes an unusual shade of green.

We are related, but I’m not