“Shawn, stop,” Lindsay replies, pressing her fingers to the bridge of her nose.
“Aren’t children supposed to annoy their babysitters?” He continues to kick her seat, small giggles escaping every few seconds.
“You’re nineteen,” I hiss, turning around to face him as I pull into the school’s parking lot. “Start acting like it. And stop kicking that seat or I’ll make you pay for a cleaning. God knows how you’ll afford that without your dealing.”
“You’d know, wouldn’t you, princess?” He grins, shoving his head between the two front seats. His proximity makes bile threaten to creep up my throat.
“What are you talking about now?” Lindsay’s still pinching the bridge of her nose, a headache setting in. I give Shawn a look that threatens his death if he speaks one more syllable.
He seems to interpret it as an invitation. “What? The BFF never told you?” he asks, eyes wide in mock-surprise. He knows damn well what I have and have not told Lindsay.
“Shawn, shut up.” I don’t want Lindsay to know about his role in my spiral. She’ll blame herself, and Lindsay is the one person I don’t want to suffer.
“Raye?” Concern floods Lindsay’s voice as she finally pries her fingers from her nose to look at me.
“Where did you think the princess her got her fix from?” Shawn runs his finger down my arm. Even though I have a jacket on, the touch makes my stomach twist in the worst possible way. “Maybe if you hadn’t of been friends, she never would have tumbled off the wagon straight into my arms.” He shrugs his shoulders, fake concern flooding his voice.
“Lindsay, it wasn’t like that,” I try to explain, pushing Shawn’s hand off my arm.
But it’s too late. Lindsay is out of the car before I finish speaking. “Get out!” I shout at him, shoving him backward, knocking him into the seat.
“It’s sweet you want to protect our relationship, princess, but I’m not too interested at the moment.”
“I didn’t tell her because she’s going to blame herself, you narcissistic asshole! You think she’ll ever forgive herself for giving me such easy access to you?”
Shawn shrugs his shoulders again, a malicious smirk creeping onto his face. He’s getting the chaos he so desperately craves, even though it means hurting his sister.
I grab his ear and drag him to my level, forcing his face back in-between the two front seats. He winces in pain, but doesn’t make a sound. I speak softly into his face. “Let me be clear, Shawn. If you ever do anything to intentionally hurt her again, I will make your life a living hell.” When he smiles at me, I twist his ear. He hisses in pain, but I don’t stop. “Don’t forget, I know things Detective Kelly would love to hear about. He’s a good family friend, so I’m sure he’ll be more than willing to sit down with me and talk about it.”
“Fine! Whatever.” He rubs his ear as I let him go. “What happened to you, anyway? I liked you better when you were high.”
“Raye?” Marcella’s voice tears apart our conversation, her perfect face appearing outside my window. Shawn, the rat that he is, takes the opportunity to vanish, darting out of my car and flinging the school’s front door open, letting it smash shut behind him.
“Hey.” The anger is still present in my voice as I slide out of the car to join her.
“I just saw Lindsay. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so upset. She wouldn’t even speak to me. What happened?”
I sigh and run my fingers through my hair, pulling it up into a ponytail and letting it fall back down my back. “It’s a long story.”
“If it’s about Lindsay, I have the time.” She matches my assertive tone with one of her own. I’m a little taken back by the passion in Marcella’s voice. Maybe she does share Lindsay’s feelings. She’s usually so warm, but it’s suddenly absent, her voice taking on a frigid tone.
I remember Lindsay’s words about needing to have someone other than me to confide in. So, I tell Marcella everything. Well, not about my dad or how I felt afterward, but about Shawn and his endless supply of drugs, alcohol, and comfort.
“Poor Lindsay,” Marcella answers, closing her eyes. Most people would hear my story and be concerned about my well being. Marcella’s response doesn’t faze me, though. My concern is for Lindsay as well.
“I need to go find her,” I say, leaving Marcella by the front door as I make my way to the gym. Inside, the area has been transformed by dozens of seats lining the walls. The stage has been opened to reveal a drum kit, a few guitars, a keyboard, and what looks like a magician’s box. Sitting in the furthest corner from the door, knees pressed against her chest, is Lindsay.
“Who’s the magician?” she asks as I sit down beside her. She won’t meet my eyes.
“No clue. Probably some freshman who doesn’t know it’ll get him beaten up.”
“You’re a terrible coordinator.” She tries to smile, the edges of her mouth moving slightly before dropping back down.
“I can’t be gifted in all areas.” I try to grab her attention by nudging her arm, but she turns her face away, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears. “Lindsay...”
“Raye, don’t. Nothing you can say will make me feel less awful. All those times I brought you over, hoping to cheer you up and knock you out of your spiral, and I was actually bringing you to the source. What kind of friend doesn’t notice when someone is getting high right under their nose?”
“Shawn wasn’t the source, Linds.”
“Maybe he wasn’t the reason you were broken, but he wasn’t helping put you back together, either. I delivered you to him.” Her voice is bitter and sad, her anger at war with her feelings of failure.
“No one could have put me back together, Lindsay. If you couldn’t, no one could. It was something I had to do on my own. And I did,” I remind her.
“Sure, after an entire year! God, Raye. I stayed up nights worried out of my mind something terrible was going to happen. I thought…” She shakes her head, trying to banish whatever thoughts are gnawing at her mind. “Every time I closed my eyes, I saw you overdosing. Or doing what he did. I always thought I was making it better, at least a little. But I should have left you alone. At least you wouldn’t have had access to my stupid brother. How did I not realize what was happening?” she asks, finally meeting my eyes. She has obviously been crying. Seeing Lindsay upset rips me apart. She’s usually so happy and cheerful; anything else is wrong and unnatural. “What kind of shitty friend doesn’t figure that out?”
“Lindsay, I didn’t want you to know. It’s not like you would go to the washroom and I would run next door and take a hit with Shawn.” The look she gives me tells me that’s exactly what she’s been picturing. “I only saw him when you weren’t around; when you were in class, or at dance lessons, or out with your mom. And honestly, if it hadn’t of been him, it would have been someone else. I would have found someone to get me what I wanted. Shawn never forced me to take anything I hadn’t asked for.”
“He never should have given you anything at all! He should have told me.”
“It’s not like you didn’t know. You knew I was using, and nothing you said stopped me. Shawn telling you wouldn’t have made a difference.”
“It would have meant less business for him,” she says, disgusted by her own words. “I didn’t even know he was dealing. I mean, I know now, but I thought it started last year when he met Liam. I’m completely blind. All these terrible things keep happening right before my eyes, and I don’t even see them.”
“Shawn’s had issues for a long time. You know that. You can’t help everyone, Linds.”
“It would be nice if I could help someone. I try so hard, Raye.” Her voice is a shadow of its natural self, weak and shattered. “Everyone I want to help seems to slip further away.”
“You can’t make someone change. You can only be there for them when they do. You’ve always been there for me.” I pull her into a hug despite her protest. “You’ll be there for him, too. He may not want help now, but he�
�ll need it eventually. You’ll be ready, like you were ready for me. I couldn’t have pulled myself out of hell if you hadn’t been waiting for me on the other side.”
Lindsay takes a deep, steadying breath in and returns my hug. “I’m so happy you’re okay,” she says, letting out the breath. “I need to know one thing…” I brace myself for the question I hoped to never have to answer. “Were you two…? I mean, did you ever…?”
“No. We never…dated, exactly.” I wince at the implication. “But there were some less-than sober moments I would like to forget.” I tense at the memory of Shawn’s hands on my body, his lips on my mouth; it’s a small miracle he never managed to talk me into more.
“Okay!” she says, clearly liking the topic even less than I do. “Okay. Good. I’ll leave it at I’m glad you’re fine. Now, can we never speak of this again?”
“Okay, deal,” I say, relieved. “I guess I need to go coordinate some people.”
“You do,” she laughs. It’s not quite her normal laugh, but it’s close enough. “It’s a mess up there.”
I glance toward the stage where FLANKED, a wannabe rock band composed of juniors, is arguing with a freshman boy holding a bunny rabbit.
A real, live, cottontail rabbit. God help him.
“I’ll take the musical acts; you take the dancers and the magician?” We watch with matching grimaces as the drummer of FLANKED tries to steal the bunny with one hand while making devil horns with the other. He hisses and sticks out his tongue when he steps out of the freshman’s reach.
“Deal.”
∆∆∆
It takes forty minutes to organize the chaos and put everyone where they’re supposed to be. Finally, after everyone has taken his or her respective places, we run through the set. Surprisingly, not all the acts are awful. The kid with the bunny actually does a decent job of sawing his friend in half, and Marcella’s dance routine is mesmerizing. FLANKED’s performance, however, is something else entirely and I make a mental reminder to bring earplugs for the show.
“Have you seen Shawn?” Lindsay asks, a little over three-quarters of the way through the performances. My eyes are glued to the bass player from FLANKED, who is swinging little cottontail around in a circle, humming a lullaby.
“Not since we arrived.” An uneasy feeling creeps into my stomach. The last thing Lindsay needs is for Shawn to escape. I don’t think she can handle her parents’ disappointment today, nonetheless more of her own.
“I better go hunt him down,” she sighs, attempting to stand. I watch as she sways to the left, catching herself on the arm of the chair before she falls.
“I’ll go. You look like you’re going to pass out.”
Her lack of argument tells me I’m right.
“Larson, will you put the rabbit down before someone calls Animal Control? Jesus!” I call as I walk out of the gym. The show is a mess and a half, and it hasn’t even started yet.
Knowing Shawn, I figure he’ll be in one of the unoccupied classrooms snorting chalk or huffing glue or some other school-friendly high he can think up, but after a lap around both floors, he is nowhere to be found.
“Shit,” I mumble, checking the boys’ washroom on the first floor as I make my way back to the gym. If I were a teenage drug addict, angry at the world and in need of a high, where would I go?
As I turn the final corner, a harsh voice catches my attention. Under the stairs, I notice a figure press up against another, voice quiet but fierce. “You need to shape up; do you understand? No more drugs, no more lashing out; I want you to be the perfect son and brother.”
“Marcella?” I call, confused. She’s standing with Shawn, his back pressed against the wall. If I didn’t know better, I would swear they’re hooking up.
“I’m not done,” she hisses at me as I approach. She sounds completely unlike herself; there is no warmth or sweetness in her voice. She turns to me, spinning so quickly I nearly miss it.
All I see is black.
CHAPTER 10
I roll over in bed, my body sticky with sweat. My stomach is tight and twisting and telling me I need to find the bathroom ASAP.
The second I stand, I throw up on the rug next to my bed.
I feel worse than if I had a hangover. Head spinning, stomach clenching, body pounding–I’m dying.
Or in hell.
Or dying, about to go to hell.
“Honey?” Mom calls from the hallway, voice alert.
“Go away!” I moan, right before throwing up again.
Well, the rug is officially ruined.
“Raye! Are you alright?” I hear her open the door.
I’m next to the rug, flat on my back, staring at the popcorn coating the ceiling. “Peachy.” I finally look up at her face, planning to fix her with a glare, but there are two Moms and I don’t know which one to focus on. She probably shouldn’t have four arms, either.
“Oh, honey, you’re burning up.” Her hand may be pressed against my head, but I’m too busy looking at her two heads to notice.
“Kill me,” I moan, rolling onto my stomach.
That makes it ten times worse.
I throw up on the rug again.
I really liked that rug.
∆∆∆
When I wake up, the sun is shining bright through my curtains, and the smell of bleach hangs around me like a fog. I look over at the clock; it’s a little past eleven in the morning.
“You’re awake!” A voice chirps, forcing me up. The movement makes my head spin.
A short woman with curly grey hair and huge glasses rushes to my side, poking at my arms and face with her pudgy hands.
“Who the hell are you?” I ask, trying to move away from her. I run out of bed space before she stops her pursuit. I yank the covers up to my chin, glaring at her with the heat of a thousand toaster ovens set on high.
“Oh, sweetie, my name is Marla. Your mom hired me to look after you. She needed to run to work.”
“Look after me? I’m sixteen!” I shout, my body flowing with rage. “Get out of my room!” Only Jacqueline McKenna would see getting her sixteen-year-old daughter a nanny as a viable solution. See a problem? Toss some money at it. Done. Fixed.
A nanny. Really?
“Sweetie, you were incredibly ill. She didn’t want to leave you alone.” Marla tries to take my temperature. I swat her hand away like a gnat.
“So I threw up a little? Who cares?” I cross my arms over my chest. I’m wearing a cotton shirt I haven’t seen in months; a shirt I sure as hell didn’t change into myself. “Did you change me?”
“You don’t remember?” A worried crease forms on her forehead; it gives me a pause between episodes of anger.
“Do I remember being stripped naked by a stranger while unconscious? Uh, no, I don’t. I’m still waiting for you to get the hell out of my room!”
“Sweetie, you were awake. You kept complaining about how hot you were and how awful the smell was. I thought it was because of all the vomit, so I cleaned you up. I had to throw out your rug, too. I’m very sorry.” I actually believe she is.
“I don’t remember any of that,” I say reluctantly, deciding to take her at her word. I pull the blanket off and try to stand, but my feet buckle beneath me. Marla grabs my elbow and helps me hobble to the door. She hums while she hobbles.
“Do you know what day it is?” she asks in a soothing voice.
“Sunday,” I say with confidence, although her look makes me second-guess myself.
“No, it’s Wednesday, dear.”
“Wednesday? How is it Wednesday?”
“Like I said, you were extremely ill. Your mother called the doctor Sunday morning when she found you lying on the floor, sick. He said it was a type of flu. So she hired me to watch over you.” Leave it to my mother to abandon me when sick. “What’s the last thing you remember?”
“Ruining my rug…” I push my hair back off of my face. Before that, I don’t know. Dropping Lindsay and Shawn off at home? Making dinn
er? It’s all a fuzzy blur swirling around in my head. “I need to shower.” I have never felt so disgusting. Marla may have changed my clothing, but the combination of sweat, vomit, betrayal, and embarrassment still cling to me.
Marla helps me to the bathroom and takes my dirty clothes. I’m mildly worried she’ll stay with me through the cleaning processes, but thankfully she leaves once I’m securely wrapped in my robe.
When I finally step out of the shower eons later, my skin tingling and mercifully no longer smelling of vomit, Marla has changed my bedding and made me soup. Maybe having a nanny isn’t so bad. Maybe I’ll keep her.
I spend the remainder of the day reading in bed until Mom gets home a little after nine. I hear Marla give her a rundown of my condition before leaving, and within minutes there is a faint knock on my door.
“I cannot believe you hired a nanny,” I shout as my mom’s head pops into my room, hesitant. She must be worried about catching my flu and having to miss work.
“Raye, you were violently ill. You couldn’t take care of yourself.”
“That’s not the point, Mom.”
“Then explain it to me, Raye. What did you want me to do? Call in sick to feed you soup all day? You’re not a child.”
“Enough of a child to need a nanny,” I spit. “You know what? Never mind. I’m fine, so you can go.” Rather than argue, my mom rolls her eyes and leaves the room.
“Love you, too,” I mumble, falling back onto the bed.
I’m asleep within minutes.
∆∆∆
The next morning I wake up before the sun, my body tired of sleeping. I manage to shower and dress before my mom makes it downstairs, successfully avoiding her for the day. I don’t know why I care. I push my anger and hurt at her behaviour to the back of my mind. It isn’t like it’s anything new.
I arrive at school so early I beat most of the teachers, so I grab a few books from my locker and focus on catching up on the three days worth of work I missed.
“Raye!” Lindsay huffs, finding me in the library over an hour later. “How are you feeling?” She puts a hand on my head, searching for any remnants of my fever.
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