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But do they know how
to craft fiction? Do
they know how to spin

lies?

His eyes swear forever,
flatter with vows of only
me. But are they empty

promises?

I stare into his eyes, as
into a crystal ball, but
I cannot find forever,

only

movies of yesterday,
a sketchbook of today,
dreams of a shared

tomorrow.

His eyes whisper secrets.
But are they truths or fairy tales?
I wonder if even he

knows.

Eden
Some People

Never find the right kind of love.
You know, the kind that steals

your breath away, like diving into snowmelt.
The kind that jolts your heart,

sets it beating apace, an anxious
hiccuping of hummingbird wings.

The kind that makes every terrible
minute apart feel like hours. Days.

Some people flit from one possibility
to the next, never experiencing the incredible

connection of two people, rocked by destiny.
Never knowing what it means to love

someone else more than themselves.
More than life itself, or the promise

of something better, beyond this world.
More, even (forgive me!) than God.

Lucky me. I found the right kind
of love. With the wrong person.

Not Wrong for Me

No, not at all. Andrew is pretty much
perfect. Not gorgeous, not in a male

model kind of way, but he is really cute,
with crazy hair that sometimes hides

his eyes, dark chocolate eyes that hold
laughter, even when he's deadly serious.

He's not a hunk, but toned, and tall enough
to effortlessly tuck me under his arms,

arms that are gentle but strong from honest
ranch work, arms that make me feel

safe when they gather me in. It's the only
time I really feel wanted, and the absolute

best part of any day is when I manage
to steal cherished time with Andrew.

No, he's not even a little wrong for me
except maybe -- maybe! -- in the eyes

of God. But much, much worse than that,
he's completely wrong for my parents.

See, My Papa

Is a hellfire-and-brimstone-preaching
Assembly of God minister, and Mama

is his not-nearly-as-sweet-as-she-seems
right-hand woman, and by almighty God,

their daughters (that's me, Eden, and my
little sister, Eve -- yeah, no pressure at all)

will toe the Pentecostal line. Sometimes
Eve and I even pretend to talk in tongues,

just to keep them believing we're heavenbound,
despite the fact that we go to public school

(Mama's too lazy to homeschool) and come
face-to-face with the unsaved every day.

But anyway, my father and mother
maintain certain expectations when

it comes to their daughters' all-too-human
future plans and desires.

You Get My Dilemma

I'm definitely not ready to marry,
so I can't risk letting them know

I'm already dating, let alone dating
a guy who isn't born-again, and even

worse, doesn't believe he needs to be.
Andrew is spiritual, yes. But religious?

At the time, I was only half in love
with Andrew and thought I needed

definitions. "What, exactly, is your
relationship with our Heavenly Father?"

Yes, he enjoyed the horrified look
on my face. More laughter settled

into those amazing eyes, creasing
them at the corners. So sexy!

After that, I was a lot more than
halfway in love with Andrew.

The Funny Thing Is

We actually met at a revival, where nearly
everyone was babbling in tongues,

or getting a healthy dose of Holy Spirit
healing. Andrew's sister, Mariah, had

forsaken her Roman Catholic roots
in favor of born-again believing and had

dragged her brother along that night,
hoping he'd find salvation. Instead

he found me, sitting in the very back
row, half grinning at the goings-on.

I hadn't noticed him come in, and when
I turned to respond, my voice caught

in my throat. Andrew was the best-looking
guy to ever sit next to me,

let alone actually say something to me.
In fact, I didn't know they came that cute

in Idaho. A good ten seconds passed before
I realized he had asked a question.

"I...uh...well, yes, in fact I come here
fairly regularly. See the short guy up there?"

I pointed toward Papa, who kept the crowd
chanting and praying while the visiting evangelist

busily laid on his hands. "He's the regular
preacher and happens to be my father."

His consternation surprised me. "No,
not kidding. Why would you think so?"

I leaned closer to him, and for the first
time inhaled his characteristic scent --

clean and somehow green, like the alfalfa
fields I later learned he helps work for cash.

I dropped my voice very low. "Promise not
to tell, but I know just what you mean."

It Was a Defining Moment

For me, who had never dared confess
that I have questioned church dogma

for quite some time, mostly because I am
highly aware of hypocrisy and notice

it all too often among my father's flock.
I mean, how can you claim to walk

in the light of the Lord when you're
cheating on your husband or stealing

from your best friend/business partner?
Okay, I'm something of a cynic.

But there was more that evening -- instant
connection, to a guy who on the surface

was very different from me. And yet,
we both knew instinctively that we needed

something from each other. Some people might
call it chemistry -- two parts hydrogen,

one part oxygen, voilà! You've got water.
A steady trickle, building to a cascade.

If Andrew

Was the poser type, things would
probably be easier. I mean, if he could

pretend to accept the Lord into his heart,
on my father's strictest of terms, maybe

we could be seen together in public -- not
really dating, of course. Not without a ring.

But Andrew is the most honest person
I've ever met, and deadly honest that night.

We had slipped out the back door,
when everyone's attention turned to

some unbelievable miracle at the front
of the church. I smiled. "Theatrical.

That sums it up pretty well, I guess.
You probably couldn't see it in back, but..."

I glanced around dramatically, whispered,
"Brother Bradley even wears makeup!"

I shrugged. "Certain expectations are
attached to the 'pastor's daughter' job

description. Easier just to meet them, or
at least pretend they don't bother you."

It was early November, and the night wore
a chill. I shivered at the nip in the air,

or at the sudden magnetic pull I felt toward
this perfect stranger. Without a second

thought, Andrew took off his leather
jacket, eased it around my shoulders.

He was standing very close to me.
I sank into that earthy green aura, looked

up into his eyes. "You don't believe in
miracles, but you do believe in signs?"

It Was Unfamiliar Turf

I mean, of course I'd thought guys were cute
before, and the truth is, I'd even kissed

a few. But they'd all been "kiss and run,"
and none had come sprinting back for seconds.

Probably because most of the guys here
at Boise High know who my father is.

But Andrew went to Borah High, clear
across town, and he graduated last year.

He's a freshman at Boise State, where his mom
teaches feminist theory. Yes, she and his rancher

dad make an odd couple. Love is like that.
Guess where his progressive theories came from.

That makes him nineteen, all the more reason
we have to keep our relationship discreet.

In Idaho, age of consent is eighteen,
and my parents wouldn't even think

twice about locking him up for statutory.
That horrible thought has crossed my mind

more than once in the four months since
Andrew decided to take a chance on me.

Four Months

Of him coming to church with Mariah,
both of us patiently wading through Papa's

sermons, then waiting for post-services coffee
hours to slip separately out the side doors, into

the thick stand of riverside trees for a walk.
Conversation. After a while, we held hands

as we ducked in between the old cottonwoods,
grown skeletal with autumn. We joked about

how soon we'd have to bring our own leaves
for cover. And then one day Andrew stopped.

He pleated me into his arms, burrowed his face
in my hair, inhaled. Smells like rain, he said.

My heart quickstepped. He wanted to kiss
me. That scared me. What if I wasn't good?

I was scared, but not of burning, and I wanted
that kiss more than anything I'd ever wanted

in my life. "Probably. And I'll burn with you.
But it will be worth it." I closed my eyes.

It was cold that morning, maybe thirty
degrees. But Andrew's lips were feverish

against mine. It was the kiss in the dream
you never want to wake up from -- sultry,

fueled by desire, and yet somehow innocent,
because brand-new, budding love was the heart

of our passion. Andrew lifted me gently
in his sinewy arms, spun me in small circles,

lips still welded to mine. I'd never known
such joy, and it all flowed from Andrew.

And when we finally stopped, I knew
my life had irrevocably changed.

Day by Day

I've grown to love him more and more.
Now, though I haven't dared confess

it yet, I'm forever and ever in love with
him. After I tell him (if I ever find the nerve),

I'll have to hide it from everyone. Boise,
Idaho, isn't very big. Word gets around.

Can't even tell Eve. She's awful about
keeping secrets. Good thing she goes to

middle school, where she isn't privy
to what happens here at Boise High.

I'm sixteen, a junior. A year and a half,
and I'll be free to do whatever I please.

For now, I'm sneaking off to spend
a few precious minutes with Andrew.

I duck out the exit, run down the steps,
hoping I don't trip. Last thing I need

is an emergency room visit when I'm
supposed to be in study hall. Around one

corner. Two. And there's his Tundra across
the street, idling at the curb. He spots me

and even from here, I can see his face
light up. Glance left. No one I know.

Right. Ditto. No familiar faces or cars.
I don't even wait for the corner,

but jaywalk midblock at a furious
pace, practically dive through the door

and across the seat, barely saying hello
before kissing Andrew like I might

never see him again. Maybe that's because
always, in the back of my mind, I realize

that's a distinct possibility, if we're ever
discovered kissing like this. One other

thought branded into my brain is that maybe
kissing like this will bring God's almighty wrath

crashing down all around us. I swear, God,
it's not just about the delicious electricity

coursing through my veins. It's all about love.
And you are the source of that, right? Amen.

Copyright © 2009 by Ellen Hopkins

A Poem by Seth Parnell
Possibilities

As a child, I was wary,
often felt cornered.
To escape, I regularly
stashed myself

in the closet,

comforted by curtains
of cotton. Silk. Velour.
Avoided wool, which
encouraged my

itching

the ever-present rashes
on my arms, legs. My skin
reacted to secrets, lies,
and taunts by wanting

to break out.

Now I hide behind
a wall of silence, bricked
in by the crushing
desire to confess,

but afraid of

my family's reaction.
Fearful I don't have
the strength to survive

the fallout.

Seth
As Far Back

As I can remember,

when I decided that.

I was the little boy

or playing army rangers.

Not easy, coming from

always been tool and die.

My dream is liberal arts,

But that won't happen.

Not with Mom Gone

She was the one who

work is killing us all.

Factory work may

and three months ago.

At least she didn't

me to be happy, with all her

heart. But when it came to

after marriage. I'll never forget

what she said when my cousin

to an army base in Georgia.

Mom got off the phone with

grow up to be such a whore?

I thought that was harsh,

makes her a whore in God's eyes.

I knew better than to argue

her know about me, suffer

the disgrace that would have

as much as those freaks in Kansas

do -- the ones who picket dead

the hell are the two things related?

And Anyway

If God were inclined

be punishment enough

to insert that innocent

gravel roads are no place

for someone like me.

for the future but farming

or assembly-line work,

that frigging closet.

I can't even tell Dad,

cliché homophobic views:

Adam and Eve, not Adam
and Steve, and no damn
bleeding-heart liberal

Most definitely not this

become. Because of who

I am, all the way inside,

if I told him the first person

to recognize what I am

to Dad someday. But not

while he's still grieving

don't know what I'd do.

So I Keep the Real Seth

Mostly hidden away.

Maize. The main ingredient

in American ethanol,

threatens to thaw me,

like it has started to thaw

the soil, readying it for seed.

I don't mind this work.

yes, and almost as ancient

as the submission of one

always another, hungering.

Hunger

Drives the beast, human

Sex. All tangled together.

It was hunger that made

I could never taste here.

Hunger that put me on

Hunger that gave me

the courage to knock on

Or maybe just starved.

I'd Dated Girls, of Course

Trying to convince

Satan, luring me with

the promise of a penis.

just-turned apple cider.

But love and sexual desire

just fine. After a while,

though, I figured I should

with Janet -- who I believed

I loved, even -- not turn

turn me on so completely?

Not that Leon Winkler

socket. What he does have

going on is a fullback's

myself watching his butt,

thinking it was perfect.

bother me. Well, except for

the idea someone might

lusted for Janet like that.

I tried to let her down

is never an easy thing.

Not Easy for Janet

Who never saw it coming.

told me you love me.

"I do love you," I said.

Can't believe I used

her cancer as an excuse

it gave Janet something

to hold on to. I know, Seth.

spoke clearly. She tried

another tactic, sliding

a different kind of kiss

than any we'd shared

if I give you this...?

Her hand found my own,

the one I had never asked for.

To be honest, I thought

I even got hard, especially

when Janet touched me,

she knew how to do. Yes...

No! Shouldn't...How...?

was all I could say.

All Janet Could Say

Before she stalked off

she pivoted sharply, went

in search of moral support.

past, to find out for sure.

But not in Perry County,

is. All fact here is rooted

in gossip, and gossip can

kissing some guy out back

of a tavern. Total lie, but

Caught up to her after Mass

Sunday morning, and when

kind of bad. But he blamed

Nate's dad one hundred percent.

good for hunting now, not

with an eye missing. Since

better find my true self

somewhere other than Perry

possibilities of online dating.

Granted, One Possibility

Was hooking up with a creep --

than one pervert, but I never

let them do me. Nope, horny

guy who swung the correct

direction into my jeans.

me, but not humiliate me.

Someone good-looking.

hoping to fall in love.

Incredibly

Unimaginably, Loren turned

world, introduced me to the

avant-garde -- performance art,

California cabernet. After

years of fried chicken and

love was unexpected. I've

said it before, and I'll repeat,

I took one look and fell

flat on my face. Figuratively,

the certainty of who I am.

Copyright © 2009 by Ellen Hopkins