by AnonYMous
Warren, pulling me to him again: No, don’t apologize. I’m sure today has been really hard for you. I’m sorry. Why didn’t you tell me? I could have helped. You could have stayed in bed.
Me: You’re already doing too much. And I don’t know why I didn’t tell you. I mean, honestly, I didn’t even realize myself until it was practically lunchtime. What’s wrong with me that I didn’t realize?
Warren: Nothing, baby. Nothing is wrong with you. You’ve got a lot on your plate is all. And maybe . . . maybe it’s kind of a good sign? I’ve done it, with Mitch, I mean. I remember halfway through the day. Maybe it means you’re healing.
Me: Maybe. I don’t know. It doesn’t feel like I am. Not today, anyway.
Warren: Go on home, Bailey. You need to rest.
Me: But . . .
Warren, cutting me off with a kiss: Go home. Sleep. Cry. Do whatever you need to do. I’ll stay here and get this done.
I looked at him, realizing I’d wanted him to tell me he was going with me, so that he could hold me and let me fall apart. But of course work needed to be done at the lab. We couldn’t both have the night off. Of course he couldn’t come.
But couldn’t he? Just for a while? Wasn’t I more important than making this batch perfect or being on schedule or the money we’d get from it? So I decided to suggest it.
Me: You could come with me.
Warren, smiling gently: I think you need your rest, Bailey. That would be better for you than anything else right now. Take a Percocet. It will help.
The suggestion, from him, made me mad. He wants to fix me with pills, like I need fixing instead of support. I’d be easier to deal with to him on a drug.
Me, shaking my head: No. I know you can take them without getting addicted, I’m just not going to take that risk.
Warren: Okay, I understand. They just always help me.
Back in my room, Emily isn’t here, so it’s just me alone. All I can do is think. About Mom. How much I miss her, how much I want her to be here and see how I’m growing up, how much I need her love and support and her smile. And I can’t stop hearing the sound of metal hitting metal. I feel so lonely. I’m trying to convince myself that Warren is right. I need rest and it was smart of him to stay at the lab. But it wasn’t what I’d wanted from him. I’d wanted him to comfort me. I’d wanted him to come back with me and listen to me talk about Mom or just hold me or sit in silence even. And if I’m honest, I wanted him to show me that I’m more important than our next batch of product.
Now all I want is to fall asleep, get some rest, and stop thinking.
So I’m going to take a Percocet. Just one. Just one can’t hurt me, right? And it might help, just tonight. Maybe it will do all that Warren promised it could.
April 7
I woke up this morning feeling rested. I slept, without waking up, for a solid seven hours. I didn’t think about Mom. I didn’t think about Warren. I didn’t dream once. Instead, I woke up this morning and felt peaceful and ready for the day. It felt amazing.
Too amazing. Which is why I reached under the bed, pulled out the rest of the pills, and went into the restroom with the intent of flushing them all. But when I held them over the water . . . I just couldn’t. I kept thinking about how good it had felt to sleep and not feel stressed. So I put them back in their hiding spot. I won’t take them unless I really need them, but I think I should keep them around . . . just in case.
April 8
Shit. I am the worst sister in the world. Add that to the ever-growing list of my failures.
Not only did I forget the anniversary of Mom’s death, I didn’t call Bex.
When I did remember, and called two days late tonight, Bex was crying when I picked up the phone. I told her how sorry I was. I even explained that I’d been so exhausted with crying myself that I had fallen asleep for most of the day, and Bex swore it was all right but I could tell how hurt she was that I hadn’t called.
We had a long talk after that. She told me how wonderful everything is at Campbell, but that she sometimes feels guilty for thinking everything is wonderful without Mom. I lied and told her I feel the same way about how happy I am at Prescott. I think it made her feel better, even if it kind of threw my unhappiness into stark relief. Then we spent the next hour or so sharing memories of Mom. I was super late to the lab, and didn’t get most of my homework done, but it was worth it. I got to be there for Bex, better late than never, and I got to talk about Mom for a while.
But this does go on the list. I have to be better about checking in with Bex. Apparently that’s another thing Dad dropped the ball on. I have to do everything now, I guess.
April 10
Mr. Callahan asked me to stay after class today, and I thought for sure he was going to “have a chat” with me about skipping class the other day again, but it wasn’t that at all. It wasn’t Princeton, either, though. It was bad news.
He asked me if I remembered our conversation the other day, about my essay, and of course I did. Then he set a newspaper in front of me before he went on talking. I glanced at the headline, which read, “Meth Addiction on the Rise in Highland County.” I don’t think I caught much of what he was saying, because I was thinking about just that headline and what it meant.
Mr. Callahan: So not to make you feel bad or anything, but this is why your essay probably didn’t seem groundbreaking to the admissions committee at Princeton. Addiction is bad everywhere, even Wiltshire. Wiltshire has been a small, safe town since it was founded, but now . . . now drugs are taking over. And not just heroin. I mean, we had some incidences of crack addiction and trafficking in the eighties, but nothing like this. People are ruining their lives. So, you see, everything is equally bad. And these meth addicts, some of them get so tweaked out when they go through withdrawal, crime rates are up because of it.
Me, scanning the article: It says meth use is up eighty percent. Eighty percent?
Mr. Callahan: I know. Again, I’m sorry, but this is probably why the admissions team wasn’t as impressed as they could have been. I’m sure almost every kid applying has a similar desire. At this point, hardly anyone is untouched. Doesn’t matter your background, your class, your school.
Me: School? You think it’s happening at school?
Mr. Callahan: You would know better than I would, I suppose. It’s not like the students here ever tell us teachers anything.
Me, nervous: You’re not like the rest of the teachers, though. But . . . where do you think it’s coming from?
Mr. Callahan: The meth? Could be anywhere, Bailey. That’s the thing about that drug. It’s not like heroin, which isn’t produced here, so you can trace a route. Meth can be made in basements, garages, trailers. . . . And there’s not much stopping anyone from producing it, and it’s relatively easy to make, as long as you can get your hands on the ingredients. But I’m sure the police are working on tracing it.
Me: How do you know so much about it? I’m sorry, that was personal. And I didn’t mean to imply anything.
Mr. Callahan, smiling gently: It’s okay, Bailey. I know so much because my brother was an addict.
Me: Was?
Mr. Callahan: Was. He’s okay now. Sober for five years. He actually goes around to schools and helps with drug resistance programs in the area.
Me, not knowing why I’m telling him, but telling him anyway: You know Warren Clark’s brother was an addict.
Mr. Callahan: I’d heard that. I’m glad you two seem to be getting along well. You could be good influences on each other.
I blushed at that, and Mr. Callahan sent me to my next class with an excuse for being late. He also let me keep the paper, which I read during downtime in English. The rise in meth addiction is concentrated in Wiltshire proper, in the east end. Police reports of dealers and drug use, statistics on the rise of crime, everything was included in the article. One of the addresses listed was for a street name I recognized as the street where our first drop had been, the night I’d gone with Drew and W
arren.
But it isn’t because of us. It couldn’t be. I know how much of the stuff we make every week, how much goes out into the town, and how much we added on in recent weeks. It was a lot, but there is no way it could account for all this. There are other people out there making this stuff, and like Warren said, there is no way their product is as high quality and safe as ours. So our customers are probably not the people committing crimes. And we didn’t create the problem. Obviously the market is there, or the Science Club wouldn’t have gotten involved at all. Again, these people are going to do it; we’re just trying to make it safer. That’s all.
Only that doesn’t quite add up, and I can’t quite convince myself of it.
After English, I threw the newspaper away. I tore it into pieces first.
April 11
I seem to be doing all right in my classes, for now. Even English, although I’m not sure at all that I’ll be able to get my grade up before the quarter ends.
Emily and I had been getting along well too, or at least better. We seemed to have reached an understanding about Warren, or perhaps the understanding was just that we wouldn’t talk about him much. But yesterday she saw me looking up information about the Cayman Islands on my laptop and asked what that was about. I told her I’m going with Warren over break. I may have purposely left out that Katy and Drew are going too, but quite frankly, I don’t care. It’s like the second she notices something about Warren, she has to mark her territory or something. Yes, I know, Emily. You were his before. I just want to scream at her sometimes, “He doesn’t want you anymore! He dumped you! HE GOT RID OF YOU!” But I can’t bring myself to do it, no matter how good it would feel. Mostly because she acts like such a sad puppy most of the time about him and I can certainly understand how losing Warren would hurt so much. But I swear, Emily gets me so close to that edge sometimes. And it probably didn’t help that she brought this up when I had layered two Adderall so that I could be sure to stay up late and work on English after I got done at the lab.
So I told her we’re going, and that creepy switch flipped, and it was Obsessed Emily again.
Emily: For the whole week?
Me: Yes. The whole week.
Emily: Sounds boring.
Me: Trust me, we will not be bored.
Emily, snorting: I guess not. But I’m surprised he wants to go anywhere.
Me: What do you mean?
Emily: Just that he doesn’t seem to like leaving Prescott much if he can help it. Obviously. He stayed over Christmas break, didn’t he? He can’t be away for long.
I understood immediately what she was implying and . . . I felt stupid. Stupid for not realizing that Emily would possibly know about Warren’s extracurricular activities or his drug use or anything else for that matter. That she perhaps knows, that perhaps Warren had told her, made my temper (and jealousy) flare and I lost the cool I always tried to maintain around her.
Me, snapping: Perhaps he just never wanted to go anywhere with YOU.
At that Emily blanched, but after the initial shock of what I said to her wore off, she nodded and looked like she totally accepted my words.
Emily: You’re probably right. Maybe it was just me. Maybe he would have taken one of the other girls always sniffing around him. I mean, he’s taking you.
Me, ignoring her jibe momentarily: What other girls?
Emily, sincerely: Come on, Bailey. Think he’s the type of guy to be faithful? Even if he’s not cheating, he’s all too happy to let you think he could, right? He plants all these little seeds of doubt on purpose.
Me: No. You’re wrong.
Emily: He pushes you away or gets incredibly angry at you for questioning anything he does, right? So it makes you feel like he could easily drop you. And you don’t want to even bring up anything anymore, so it’s like he trains you to keep your mouth shut. So when you suspect he wants someone else, like Katy—
Me: Katy? You’ve got to be kidding me.
Emily, rolling her eyes: Come on. Do you think all that fighting and stuff is actually because they hate each other? They need to get a room more than any people I know.
Me: But Katy’s into Drew.
Emily: Uh-huh. And I bet she’s hoping that will just tear Warren up inside.
I don’t think she’s right about that. She may even be trying to make me paranoid. Warren loves ME, I know he does. He tells me so and he cares about me. He comforts me and listens to me. Okay, maybe he didn’t on the anniversary of Mom’s death, but he was doing what he thought was right. And maybe he doesn’t listen to my concerns about him and the pills but . . . Warren has some issues. He’s just working through them the only way he can.
Me, trying to feel confident: Warren loves me.
Emily, rather gently: I’m sure he says he does. Mostly after a fight, right? Or when he needs something from you? Or he’s trying to get out of being blamed for something?
We got quiet for a while, and in the silence my head was spinning with what she was saying, trying to find arguments against it, and even for it. But nothing was clear to me. I believed him when he said he loved me. I still do. At least I think I do. I decided to try to shift the focus of the conversation.
Me: I think maybe he just doesn’t know how to really be with someone. He was so hurt by his parents and his brother and everything.
Emily: What are you talking about?
Me: Oh, he didn’t tell you? Never mind, then.
It felt spiteful to say that to her, but it got the job done. Now she knows Warren shared something with me that he hadn’t with her. At least I had the upper hand back in our conversation.
Emily: No, what did he tell you?
Me: It’s not my story to tell. Forget I said anything.
We went back to doing our homework, and I felt vindicated. I was the only one Warren had told about his brother. The other girls didn’t really matter, then, did they? He felt more for me, he knew he could share more with me. I win, I win, I win.
And maybe . . . maybe if she doesn’t know about that, she doesn’t know about anything else, either. Maybe I mistook what her words meant.
Me: You do know where Warren gets all his money, right?
Emily hesitated, or maybe she’d gotten back into her homework enough that it took her a while to answer.
Emily: Of course. I know he’s on scholarship and everything like me, but his grandparents are loaded, so it’s kind of an illusion that he’s poor. He likes to play up the “woe is me” scholarship student thing. He probably thinks it adds to the intrigue or something.
I didn’t know what to make of her answer or the hesitation. But something tells me Emily knows more than she let on.
And this isn’t the first time someone has said something to me about Warren having a lot of girls around. I mean, Drew’s said as much. Now Emily. They can’t possibly both be lying, right? And why would Drew have any reason to make me feel like I can’t trust Warren? Emily, sure, but not Drew.
I don’t know how to ask Warren about it and not sound like I’m accusing him. And if I’m being honest, even asking him as gently as possible will make him angry. I guess it’s in the past, right? And I shouldn’t worry about the past. Unless it’s a pattern for him . . .
God, I have no idea who to trust. I’d give anything to talk this through with Mom.
April 12
Warren found me before lunch yesterday and pulled me into an empty classroom. It was thrilling, not going to lie. But he wasn’t there to steal a kiss. He asked me if I could make sure that Katy wouldn’t go to the lab that night.
I jokingly asked if it was because he was desperate for some time alone with me, but my laughter sounded so fake and tinny. At the mention of Katy’s name, all I could think about was what Emily had said about her and Warren.
Warren didn’t notice my thoughts were elsewhere and told me he had ideas about the product that he wanted to try. I promised I’d do my best to keep her away, even though I was nervous about what he was up
to. I haven’t mentioned the news article to anyone in the Club yet, and honestly, I was feeling guilty enough about what we’re doing. If he wanted to make the product stronger or something, I don’t know if I could handle it.
At lunch I brought up that I’d heard Drew talking about a movie Katy wanted to see, and the two of them made plans to go see it, leaving Warren and me tons of time in the lab alone.
When I got there, he was already inside, in his coat and goggles. Something was brewing, but the smell was a little . . . off. Not in a bad way. Just different from what I’m used to. Sharper, somehow.
Me: So what’s going on?
Warren, turning to me with a huge grin: I think I’ve figured out how we can make something better.
Me: Better? Like better meth or something different?
Warren: Better meth. Essentially. Purer. Stronger.
Warren pulled out a notebook, an old spiral-bound thing that had seen better days. He flipped it open to where his scratchy handwriting revealed some touch-ups to the formulas we always use.
I took the notebook and studied what he’d written, and although I understood the formulas, I paid more attention to how quickly he’d written it, considering how sloppy and pointed his letters and numbers were. He’d obviously been hit by a flash of inspiration.
Me: So . . . basically we’d use more of the catalytic ingredients?
Warren: I think so. I think we’ll be able to make it faster, and I think it will leave more of the actual high-inducing ingredients more pure.
Me: So it will cause a stronger high?
Warren, shaking his head: No. I mean, yes. It would. But they wouldn’t need to use as much of it either. What do you think?
Me: I think we should try it. But how will we know if it works?
Warren, with a shrug: I’ll be guinea pig. Or Drew. We’ve done it before. We can handle it.
Me: Okay. I trust you. I didn’t know you wanted to change anything. I mean, I’m all about it, I just thought we were doing fine.
