BooksBarbecue
Back Never Look Back
Chapters (51)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. One
  4. Two
  5. Three
  6. Four
  7. Five
  8. Six
  9. Seven
  10. Eight
  11. Nine
  12. Ten
  13. Eleven
  14. Twelve
  15. Thirteen
  16. Fourteen
  17. Fifteen
  18. Sixteen
  19. Seventeen
  20. Eighteen
  21. Nineteen
  22. Twenty
  23. Twenty-One
  24. Twenty-Two
  25. Twenty-Three
  26. Twenty-Four
  27. Twenty-Five
  28. Twenty-Six
  29. Twenty-Seven
  30. Twenty-Eight
  31. Twenty-Nine
  32. Thirty
  33. Thirty-One
  34. Thirty-Two
  35. Thirty-Three
  36. Thirty-Four
  37. Thirty-Five
  38. Thirty-Six
  39. Thirty-Seven
  40. Thirty-Eight
  41. Thirty-Nine
  42. Forty
  43. Forty-One
  44. Forty-Two
  45. Forty-Three
  46. Acknowledgments
  47. P.S. Insights, Interviews & More . . .*
  48. About the Author
  49. About the Book
  50. Also by Alison Gaylin
  51. About the Publisher

I’m a blonde again. I’m going to tell you about that first, because it’s the easiest thing to talk about. Prom night, Gabriel and I drove for miles and miles. We picked up some hair dye from a Savon all the way in Ventura. At dawn, on a long road that was all cactus and sagebrush, we got our tank filled at a gas station with old-fashioned-looking pumps, by an attendant who didn’t speak any English but knew enough to give Gabriel the bathroom key. We went in there together and colored our hair. I had chosen Diamond Blond—a color as light and shiny as the hair of a Barbie doll. It doesn’t look quite like that on me, though. Since I didn’t have a lot of time to leave it in, the bleach kind of blended with my old copper color and came out strawberry blond. It isn’t bad, though. Gabriel dyed his hair black. He looks kind of like a tall Eddie Munster now, but I wouldn’t tell him that. He probably wouldn’t think it was funny and besides, I’m not talking to him. (You’ll know why when I tell you about the next thing.)

Not far from the gas station, we found a new motel. It’s called the Bristol Arms. Don’t let the fancy name fool you. It’s a step down from the Drop Inn. Our room doesn’t have a TV, for one thing. There are no cockroaches in the bathroom, but guess what? The bathroom is down the hall. The last time I went, I had to wait twenty minutes for some skank to finish doing whatever it was she was doing in there. (I think she was probably shooting up.) She wore hot pants and cork sole platforms and a bandanna tied across her boobs. When she finally left the bathroom and saw me waiting there, she got right up in my face. “What are you looking at, you little bitch?” which was kind of funny, since she’s the same size as me. She stank of cigarettes and cheap perfume. Spit flew out of her mouth when she talked and it reminded me of bullets spraying out of a machine gun.

There are times when I think about the girl I was before this whole thing with Gabriel happened. That girl would have backed away from that skank without saying a word. She may have even apologized for staring or said something really lame like, “Please don’t hurt me. I won’t do it again.” She would have run.

But not me. Not the girl I am now. I grabbed that skank by her skinny neck and told her in a low, calm voice that if she ever takes that long in the bathroom again, I’ll cut her, forehead to belly button. She walked away fast.