Identical by Ellen Hopkins Page B

approach of my door.
    He bursts through and fear
    swallows me down. Do
    you have any idea who’s
    responsible for these hang-ups?
    One thought immediately
    crosses my mind, but I’ll be
    damned if I want to get caught
    in the middle of the brewing
    storm. “No. Should I?”
    He softens, but only a little.
    I thought maybe it was one
    of your friends. Or… white
    glare …a boyfriend?
    Like I would ever let a boy
    call here! Like I would dare
    say that. “None of my friends
    would do that, Daddy. And I
    don’t have a boyfriend.”
    Well…it’s just that this has been
    happening for several days. I
    answer, click. Maybe it’s one
    of your mom’s secret admirers.
    “Mom’s admirers aren’t so
    secret, Daddy. It’s probably
    just a solicitor or something.
    Anyway, doesn’t the number
    show up on caller ID?”
    Now why didn’t I think of that?
    His voice fairly sprays sarcasm.
    It’s a private number. Hurry
    it up now, or you’ll be late.

The Clock Agrees
    I’m supposed to meet Brittany
    in twenty minutes. Still, I just
    can’t seem to “hurry it up.”
    Mostly because he told me to.
    I slide out of bed, shuffle
    to the bathroom, do my thing.
    Brush my teeth and hair.
    By the time I return to my
    room in search of clothes,
    Daddy is hustling toward
    the door. Come straight
    home after work. Hear me?
    Like where else would I go?
    But, of course, despite
    the serious resentment
    that blooms immediately,
    I say simply, “Okay.”
    He is all the way into the garage
    before calling over his shoulder,
    And don’t answer the phone.

Do This, Don’t Do That
    I seriously despise the man, would do just

about anything not to obey him, at

least if I thought I could get

away with it or even that

the sure consequences

would be sufferable.

But when Daddy

decides to make

you suffer,

it’s more

than any

one can

bear.

But He’s Gone Now
    So I’m going to do the likely
    less than intelligent thing and
    dress exactly how I want. Not
    hippie today. Frumpy? Slutty?
    Hey, maybe no clothes at all?
    Probably not a good plan.
    Who knows if Brittany’s silver
    bomber can even make it to
    school without breaking down?
    Speaking of that, she’ll be here
    soon. Better shake my tail.
    Where did that saying come
    from, anyway? I slide into
    a glam velour jogging suit. Not
    frumpy. Not slutty. Just soft
    and definitely not an outfit
    Daddy would want me to
    wear to school. Too casual.
    (Although, really not casual
    enough for a decent jog.)
    Out the door, into the cold
    morning, I’m glad I’m wearing
    sweats, if you can really call
    glam velour sweats. Up the
    sidewalk, to the corner where
    I’m supposed to meet Brittany.
    (Wasn’t sure Daddy would
    approve of that, either, should
    he have been home to see me
    climb into a half-dilapidated
    Toyota.) Hey, maybe I defied
    him twice in one morning.
    Wouldn’t that be a coup?
    As I wait for Brittany (late,
    go figure!), my mind wraps
    around that “shake my tail”
    thing. Some deep place inside
    my brain latches onto it and
    doesn’t want to let go. Where
    did I hear that? The voice I
    don’t quite remember is low.
    Feminine. Not Mom’s, though.
    Too scratchy. So whose?

Brittany, Finally
    And she’s not alone. Riding
    shotgun is Joel, who I know
    from drama. And in the back-
    seat, next to my apparently
    appointed place, is Shaun.
    Ian’s little brother. Great.
    Not that he’s not a nice kid,
    but sitting back there next
    to him seems somehow
    incestuous. Oh, well. It’s
    just a ride to school, right?
    Oh, hey, coos Brittany. Sorry
    I’m late, but I had to pick up
    the guys. Joel was right on
    time, but Shaun? She giggles.
    Oh, yech. Maybe Brittany
    as transportation won’t work
    out so well after all. But
    one day won’t hurt, right?
    Anyway, the bus already
    went by. My choices are
    limited. “No problem.”

Not Being Top
    Of the hour, the radio blares.
    Hip-hop, no less. Definitely
    not my cup of tea, but hey,
    it’s not my freaking radio.
    Joel seems