BooksBarbecue
Back When We Were Bright and Beautiful
Chapters (72)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Epigraph
  4. Part One
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. Part Two
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. Part Three
  43. 37
  44. 38
  45. 39
  46. 40
  47. 41
  48. 42
  49. 43
  50. 44
  51. 45
  52. 46
  53. 47
  54. 48
  55. 49
  56. 50
  57. 51
  58. 52
  59. 53
  60. 54
  61. 55
  62. 56
  63. 57
  64. 58
  65. 59
  66. 60
  67. Epilogue
  68. Author’s Note
  69. Acknowledgments
  70. About the Author
  71. Also by Jillian Medoff
  72. About the Publisher

Powell’s face twists. “You’re smoking? That’s so gross.” This from a guy who I’ve seen caked in mud, gulping grain alcohol out of a cleat. “Hey, Ave! Where are you? Look who it is!”

As I watch Avery approach, the store takes on a movie-set quality, realistic but artificial. My head is spinning; and I view the next scene through a scrim. I’m rooted in place, but my mind detaches while the self that remains is anesthetized. At the same time, my other senses sharpen; sounds are richer, smells more pungent. I have the sensation of falling off my own feet.

“Cassandra,” she says, sounding like she’s speaking through a long, hollow tube. She looks very stoned too. “I’m a blonde now.”

“You are very blond,” I agree.

Our eyes lock. Years of memories flash between us. I feel my chest ache.

I haven’t seen Avery in a long time. We grew up together. As little kids, we rode horses and had sleepovers; as tweens, we got manicures; as teenagers, we learned how to drive. In high school, Nate threw parties when our parents were out of town. Avery and I drank, smoked, and flirted with older boys. It was fun and decadent—though for me, short-lived. Eventually, Marcus got in the way, and Avery and I stopped being best friends, or friends at all. Both of us acted badly, but I acted worse.

Outside, the night air is cool. I return to myself. I’m ready to talk, but Avery murmurs a quick goodbye, and walks away.

“Avery! Wait up!” Powell calls out. “Great seeing you, Cass.” He leans in to dust my cheek with his lips. “Elmo will be fine,” he whispers. “Trust me.”

Trust him? I roll my eyes. When I step toward my car, I see a ticket on my windshield, a gift from the cops. Bent fuckers, all of them.

17

APRIL 17 TAKES FOREVER TO COME, BUT WHEN IT DOES, IT’S too soon.

We drive to Billy’s arraignment in thunderous silence. We’re all furious—at Diana Holly, at the press, at the New Jersey courts, at each other. In the back, wedged between Nate and me, Billy is wearing enormous white headphones. With his eyes closed and head bobbing, he looks like an astronaut receiving orders from Mission Control. His doctor prescribed Effexor to help lift his mood, and Ativan to help him sleep. It’s hard to know if they’re working since Billy hasn’t uttered a full sentence in days. Mostly, they make his movements slow and sluggish. Before we left, I dry-swallowed an Ativan, just to dull the edges. Nate swallowed two, so the Three Musketeers are three blind mice, three zombies, three junkies.