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Back Little Universes Save as PDF
Chapters (63)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. Dedication
  4. Epigraph
  5. Part 1
  6. Mae
  7. Hannah
  8. 1
  9. 2
  10. 3
  11. 4
  12. 5
  13. 6
  14. 7
  15. 8
  16. 9
  17. 10
  18. 11
  19. 12
  20. 13
  21. 14
  22. 15
  23. 16
  24. 17
  25. 18
  26. 19
  27. 20
  28. 21
  29. 22
  30. 23
  31. 24
  32. Part 2
  33. 25
  34. 26
  35. 27
  36. 28
  37. 29
  38. 30
  39. 31
  40. 32
  41. 33
  42. 34
  43. 35
  44. 36
  45. 37
  46. 38
  47. Part 3
  48. 39
  49. 40
  50. 41
  51. 42
  52. 43
  53. 44
  54. 45
  55. 46
  56. 47
  57. 48
  58. Epilogue
  59. Mental Health Resources
  60. Acknowledgments
  61. DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
  62. About the Author
  63. Newsletter Sign-up

Ben looks up at me, black lashes flicking over deep brown eyes. “By figuring out what’s dragging you down.”

i wish I didn’t look like my dead mother.

Window on Train Car Door

The C Line

Boston

14

Hannah

I wait until we’ve been at school for two days before I start talking to the maybe-dealers. The headaches, my bones hurting—I can’t hold out much longer. Withdrawal is probably worse than death. At least after you die, it doesn’t hurt anymore.

They’re not hard to spot. The dealers. They look grungier than everyone else at this fancy private school that my aunt’s insisting on because Nate went here.

They’re always looking over their shoulders. Their eyes have secrets. I go for the cutest one first because why not? Also, he’s in my dumb-person math class.

I find him after school, leaning against the flagpole. Waiting. For someone like me.

“Hey.” I stop in front of him.

“Hi.” His eyes narrow, suspicious.

“Math class, right? Algebra Two with Stephens?”

He just looks at me. Right. I shouldn’t expect my dealer to be sober.

“I’m Hannah. New girl. From LA?”

“Hi, Hannah New Girl From LA.”

Fuck this guy. “This is the part where you tell me your name.”

He smirks. “Drew.”

“Okay, Drew, I’m not one for small talk, so this is the deal: I have a wad of cash in my pocket and I’d really love some pharmaceuticals. So what do you have and how much is it?”

“Why are you asking me?” A sliver of fear catches in his eyes. Good. I don’t like his upper-hand vibe.

“Lucky guess. Now, are you holding or not?”

Drugs were so much easier to find in LA. All I had to do was walk two steps down the sidewalk from my door and I’d be on the Venice boardwalk, the real Boulevard of Broken Dreams.

“If I was holding—and I’m not saying I am—why would I sell to someone I don’t know?” Drew says. “In case you aren’t aware, Hannah New Girl From LA, buying or selling drugs here will get you expelled. They have a zero-tolerance policy at Saint Francis. And I’m on scholarship.”

“I know the drill.” What a little prick. Fucking standing there, toying with me. Even drug dealers are patriarchal assholes. It’s always dudes that are holding, and they often get more than just money in exchange for their wares. Is that what he wants? “Look, I’ll go ask someone else. Whatever.”

I turn to go—one step, two—

“Wait.”

I smile and turn around. “Yes?”

“What do you want?”

“Percs. Vicodin.”

Oxy. Oh boy, do I want Oxy. But I don’t deserve to feel that good. Although—