“I ran out of Vicodin. I have Percs. And, before you ask, I don’t sell cotton to people I don’t know. That shit’s intense.”

“Okay, whatever. I’ll take what you have. How much?” I see Mae come out the front door, talking to some girl. Shit.

“Five for five milligrams, ten for ten. I recommend the ten—it’s a great high. Five will get you there, though. Just not as quickly.”

“I don’t need to be schooled on what will get me high. Look, I have to go.” I start backing away. “Can I get it from you tomorrow?”

“I might not have any tomorrow. But, whatever, it’s your deal.”

“I don’t want my sister to see,” I say, nodding toward Mae. “She’s … not like … us.”

His eyebrow raises just a tad. “Us?”

Losers.

“She’s a good girl.”

His mouth turns up a little. “Well, I’m certainly not one of those.” His eyes flick up to mine, and I force myself to hold his gaze. “Tomorrow at lunch,” he finally says. “Under the bleachers near the baseball diamond.”

Diamond. Perfect.

I suddenly feel a rush of gratitude for this asshole. “All right. Thanks.”

When I get to Mae, she’s looking over my shoulder, craning her neck to get a better look at Drew.

“Who was that?” she asks.

“Dude from my math class. I forgot to write down the homework.”

“He looks like the guy from that vampire show you like—the one with the brothers. The bad brother.” She bumps her hip against mine. “Ohhhh, I’m telling Micah.”

We’re trying to do this, to be like we used to. But it feels like we’re reading lines in a play. Even though I apologized for being a mess the other night, breaking that bottle in the kitchen, I’m still so mad at her for taking my pills.

I smile. “Shut up.”

I can always not meet Drew tomorrow, just forget I ever had that conversation by the flagpole. Make another quit attempt. Come clean to Aunt Nora and Uncle Tony and Nate. I know telling would be the first step in really trying to get sober.

But then I remember my parents are dead and my boyfriend is on the other side of the country and also that I’m a fucking loser piece-of-shit junkie.

“What’s wrong?” Mae asks.

Everything. Obviously.

“Nothing,” I say. “Why?”

She shrugs. “Besides the obvious? I know you don’t like it here. School. Boston.”

“I’m cool, Mae. Just … don’t breathe down my neck so much, okay? I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”

“I know,” she says, her voice quiet.

Fuck. Nothing comes out right anymore.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I just … you know. It’s hard.”

She takes a breath.

The kind before you jump into the deep end of the pool.