Illicit: A Novel

by Ava Harrison

  “Oh, fuck you, Mr. Perfect.” The class erupts into a fit of laughter. Did I just say that out loud? Oh, shit.

  “Miss Adams, hall—now.”

  Oh, my God. I totally did. I burst into another fit of giggles.

  Once in the hall, Carson turns to face me. There is no trace of emotion on his face. His eyes are vacant. Hollow. His demeanor like ice. It feels as if my blood drains from my body as my heart hammers erratically.

  “What are you doing, Lynn? What is wrong with you?”

  “What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you? You promised. You promi . . .” I trail off as the room starts to spin and bile crawls up my throat.

  Then everything goes dark.

  Light filters in. My body is heavy, weighted to the couch. As my eyes open, I think I see Carson. Through the haze I open my mouth, but my words come out jumbled and confused.

  “I was so . . . I scared . . . I lost you. I miss you so . . .”

  “What is she talking about, Mr. Blake?” a strange voice says.

  My eyes jolt open, and I’m in a strange room on an unfamiliar couch and a woman is standing next to Carson.

  “Who are you?”

  “Lynn, this is the school nurse. When you passed out, I didn’t know if you were okay, so I called her,” Carson clarifies.

  “A nurse? Did I hurt myself?” My hand travels up my body looking for a wound.

  “No, but you were slurring your words and then you passed out. We brought you in here until—”

  “Where is she?” My mom storms into the office. “I can’t believe I had to drive all the way into the city for this. Are you happy with yourself?”

  God forbid I ruin her little trip.

  I can’t look at the disgust in her eyes. The hatred I know will be there. I glare back at Carson. I bite back a tear. “You-you called my mom?” I whisper, my voice catching in my throat. Please don’t cry, don’t cry in front of her.

  His hands are fisted by his mouth, but it’s his eyes that are almost my undoing. They look so sad, so hurt and broken. “Of course.”

  “How could you do that? Why do you hate me? Why are you against me?”

  “I’m not against you. We’re all on the same team here, Lynn.”

  “I could get kicked out of school. I won’t be able to go to NYU if I get kicked out. I won’t be able to get away from my mom if I get kicked out,” I whisper.

  “I won’t let that happen. We-I just want you to be okay. I just want you to be happy.”

  “You might want that, but she doesn’t.” I slump back on the couch. I want to throw something, but I’m too weak. I can barely hold my head up. “How could you rat me out?” My voice is so low I’m not sure he can hear me over my mother’s voice that is rising as she argues with someone on the far side of the room. When he runs his hands through his hair, tugging roughly on the roots, it’s obvious he has.

  “I had to tell. There needed to be a consequence to your actions. What did you expect would happen? You passed out drunk in the middle of the school. I had no choice.” He bows his head and covers his face with his palm. “You can’t keep acting like this. What about college?”

  “I hate you,” I spit out, knowing full well I’m acting like a petulant child. But I don’t care. “Second, who are you to say what I need?”

  Pulling his hand away, his gaze assesses me. The blue of his irises are almost completely gone, only the black of his pupils is left. He leans in close. “I’m the guy who cares about you.” My eyes widen, and he pulls back to a normal distance. “Miss Adams, believe what you want, but everyone at Cranbrook Prep cares what happens to you. We all want you to be healthy, and we want you to be happy, and we want you to graduate and make something of your life.”

  I lean back and close my eyes, but they soon pop back open when I hear my mom’s voice grow louder, followed by Principal Gordon’s.

  “Please, Mrs. Adams, I don’t think this is a good place to discuss—” Mr. Gordon says, but my mom cuts him off, her voice shrill and impatient.

  “Where, then? Because I’m running late and have places to be. This incident has already taken too much of my time.”

  “Please come with me.”

  Everyone leaves but Carson and me. I don’t want to look at him, but I press past my fear and lock eyes with him. The sadness is palpable, but it doesn’t stop the anger from boiling in my blood.

  “Can you leave, too?” I grit out, and he nods.

  “I’m here for you. However long it takes, I’m here if you need me.” He looks down at me and his eyes soften.

  “What makes you think I’ll want to talk to you?” Tears blind my eyes and choke my voice.

  “Because I have faith that once your anger fades, you’ll realize I’m doing this because you mean something to me.”

  “I’ll never forgive you.” My throat constricts, filled with too much sorrow and grief to utter another word.

  “I’m willing to take that chance if it means you will be happy in the future.”

  I sink back into the couch and close my eyes, shutting out the world around me—but not before I hear the steady tread of his footsteps hitting the floor in his retreat.

  My feet dangle off my bed as I stare up at the ceiling. Confusion clouds my brain as I think back on everything that has transpired. An ache inside me comes and goes as if my heart is missing an integral piece of itself. Days pass and the pain ebbs and flows. I try to concentrate on something else, but with little to pass my time while I’m not allowed in school, I find it near impossible.

  As usual, my mother whipped out her checkbook in an attempt to make everything disappear. But the school needed to punish me for drinking on school grounds, so they settled on three short days of suspension and mandatory counseling. Immediately after she made her endowment to the new library, she left. This time she said she was so stressed she needed to go to Canyon Ranch, so she’d hopped in her car service that was parked outside the school and went straight to the airport. Who does that? A selfish woman, that’s who. I expected my mom to rip into me after the incident at school, but it never came. She doesn’t even care enough to lecture me.

  I can’t dwell on her behavior, though. You can’t change people unless they want to be changed.

  A knock reverberates through my home on day three of my suspension. I haven’t left these walls since the incident last Friday, and other than a few texts from Bridget, I haven’t spoken to anyone. I’m not sure who would be stopping by.

  The last few days have been instrumental in putting me back on track. I’ve used the time to really think about what I want in life, and what I’ve realized is I want to graduate in the spring and start NYU as soon as possible. Even though I missed a few reading sessions at the center, Carson apparently came through for me, and gave me a glowing recommendation. I need to thank him. Most of all, I need to make it up to Toby.

  I’ve called the admissions department at NYU and put in my early decision application for summer classes instead of starting in the fall. I also put in my request for housing. My mom’s not here to bother me, but in order to get a fresh start I need to distance myself—from everything. Right now, I need to concentrate on me.

  With brisk steps, I head to the foyer. “Yes?” I answer through the door, too lazy to look through the peephole.

  “It’s me. Carson.”

  I groan. Even though I know what he did was right, I’m still annoyed he did it. I wish he had spoken to me first and at least tried to get through to me, without getting my mother involved. I open the door and wait for him to step inside.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask as I shut the door behind him. He doesn’t respond right away, merely stares at me for a beat. His face is hollow, dark circles shadow his eyes, and there’s a few days’ worth of hair dusting his face. He’s still beautiful but he looks broken.

  “I wanted to talk.” His hoarse whisper breaks the silence and it pains me to hear the tone. It’s as if a raw and primitive grief
overwhelms him. He lifts a hand and rakes it through his already unruly hair before stepping farther into the room.

  “Talk? Now you want to talk? After you got me suspended? You know they’re making me see a school counselor?”

  He nods once. “What did you want me to do, Lynn?” His shoulders slump and his gaze casts downward.

  “It was a dick move,” I say and he brings his gaze back up, shaking his head. I gesture toward the living room. We fall into step until he’s standing in front of me.

  “No, Lynn, it was the only move. And if you’re too—”

  “Too what?” I slam my hands down and they ricochet off my legs.

  His eyes widen. “Stubborn. If you’re too stubborn to see that, then there’s really nothing else for us to talk about.”

  My back muscles tighten at his words. I have an overwhelming desire to yell at him, but instead, I take a deep breath and calm my nerves.

  Screaming will get me nowhere.

  I sit down on the couch and lower my gaze to stare at my fingers tracing nervous circles on my thigh. “Do you even care about me? Did you ever care about me?”

  “Of course I did—do. But what do you want me to do? I might have acted as though I didn’t care, but I had no choice. I was in an unimaginable situation. You have to know that.”

  I ran my hands through my hair and then sighed. “I do. I do know that, but so was I.”

  “I know.” The expression on his face is sad and unnerving. As if he’s been through a war, and in truth with everything that’s gone on . . . he has. “Listen, Lynn, I just want to say I’m sorry. I know you think I sold you out, and I did, but I felt I had no other choice. I was afraid of what would happen to you. You can’t do this—the drinking. This won’t solve anything. You are more than this.”

  “I know,” I say, meeting his eyes. “And you were only trying to help.”

  Carson exhales as his body visibly relaxes. “I’m happy you’re okay.”

  “Me too.”

  A small tentative smile forms across his face. “So, you’re back to school on Thursday. Are you planning to transfer out of my class?”

  “I think it’s for the best, don’t you?”

  I watch his Adam’s apple bob. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I’ll miss seeing you there.”

  “Oh, bullshit.” I grin. “I was always a pain in your ass.”

  He laughs, and little lines grow along his mouth. He looks beautiful.

  “But you’ll still come to the center, right?”

  “I don’t know if I should, but I know I have to. Does that make sense?”

  “Yes, one hundred percent. These kids have been through enough already. They need consistency. Toby needs you. I don’t know if he’s opened up to you yet, but Toby’s father died of a drug overdose. His mother is an addict. Everyone in his life has abandoned him.” Even me.

  My chin quivers at the thought. Toby needs me, and I need to make it up to him. “Do you think he’ll forgive me?”

  “Eventually. Just give him time.” I remain silent, only biting my lip to stop myself from crying. “Well, I’ve got to go.” His eyes appraise me and I sense he wants to say more but he doesn’t so I bite back my emotions and say my good-bye.

  “See you in school, Mr. Blake.”

  “See you in school, Miss Adams.”

  I TAP MY PENCIL LIGHTLY on my notebook as I wait for Dr. Young to show. Meeting with the school counselor is part of the reason I didn’t get suspended for longer than three days. As much as I complained at the time, I realize that meeting with him twice a week is much better than the alternative. I have no doubt if I hadn’t agreed to this, there was a good chance NYU would have heard all about it on my transcripts, and I could have potentially lost my chance for acceptance.

  The door creaks open, and a man steps into the room. He has salt and pepper hair and a light dusting of gray on his face. “Hello, Lynn. I’m Dr. Young, the school counselor. How are you today?” I shrug, but don’t speak. He takes a seat across from me and places a notepad on his lap. “Is there anything you want to ask me before we start?”

  “No.”

  “Well, then I’ll jump right in. If you ever feel you need a minute or to stop, please let me know. So . . .” He looks down at the journal. “From what Mr. Blake and Principal Gordon have told me, you were inebriated at school?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Is there anything else I should know?”

  “I was also on Xanax,” I mutter under my breath.

  He scribbles something on his notepad, then sets the paper down. “Are you prescribed Xanax?”

  I shake my head.

  “Can I assume you took the pills from a friend?”

  I don’t respond.

  “Maybe your mother?”

  I furrow my brow.

  “Okay, so you took the pills from your mother. What was going on that you felt you needed to take anti-anxiety medication?”

  Looking down to the floor, different answers filter through my brain. I can’t answer this. If I do, I will run the risk of getting Carson in trouble.

  “You’ll have to trust me for this to work.”

  “Boy problems,” I state matter-of-factly, and hope he doesn’t press further.

  “It usually is.” He gives me a lopsided smile. “So, tell me a little about yourself, Lynn. You grew up with your mom?”

  “My mom and my dad—until he left. Then there was Elliot, my mom’s second husband. He left, too. After him was David. Bet you can guess what happened to him,” I deadpan.

  “And how does this make you feel?”

  My hands grasp at my skirt, and I pull at a loose thread. “I feel as though everyone keeps leaving me. I have no one,” I whisper.

  “You had your mother.”

  “I never had my mother. She was the first to leave.”

  “Your mom was distant?”

  I scoff. “That’s an understatement.”

  “How about we talk about your mom for a bit?”

  “I don’t think there is enough time to talk about her.”

  “Since you mentioned self-medicating, let’s talk about that first. Does your mother also use coping mechanisms such as drinking or prescription drugs?”

  “No, and yes. She doesn’t really drink, but she is like a human pill container. She has a pill for everything.”

  “You were taught to handle sadness one way, but I think it would be beneficial to learn a different way to handle situations. Break the pattern. From here on out, for the foreseeable future, we have a standing date every week. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  For some reason, knowing I can see Dr. Young each week and he’ll listen and be there for me instantly makes me feel as if a huge boulder has been lifted off my shoulders.

  The time has come, and fear and anxiety coil in my belly. How will I say sorry? How will I make Toby understand that I didn’t abandon him? What I did was selfish, but I care and I need him to see that.

  He won’t meet my eyes. He won’t allow himself to open up. I understand. I get it. He’s so similar to me, and it breaks my heart that I did this. I didn’t show up. I was no better to Toby than my mom was to me.

  “Toby.”

  He ignores me, and continues to play with a toy car on the table. The wheels screech as they turn in the silence that surrounds us.

  “Toby, please look at me.”

  Still nothing. I move to kneel beside his chair so our heads are now at the same level. I reach out my hand and he flinches. “I’m not going to hurt you. I promise.”

  “You already did,” he whispers.

  A tear slides down my cheek. “I know I did. And I am so sorry. I understand if you don’t want me to be here, but I needed to come. I need to tell you how sorry I am. It was never my intention to hurt you. I was hurting and made a mistake. I know you can’t trust me right now, but please, please give me another chance. I will work to regain your trust.”

  He looks up at me but still says
nothing.

  “I understand,” I say as another tear falls. “I’ll be waiting right over there. If you’re not ready, I understand, but I’ll be here again next week and the week after that.”

  The time passes, and he never comes. I catch him peeking up from the desk a few times, but I know this won’t be an easy fix. It’s okay, I’ll be back. I won’t abandon him again.

  MY FEET HIT THE PAVEMENT, each stride releasing the endorphins I need to get through all this shit with Lynn. Two weeks have passed since that last time we were alone together, but I still see her every fucking day in the hallways. Even though it’s no longer in my classroom, it’s too much.

  Too fucking much.

  So I run.

  I make it only a few blocks when I almost trip on my own two feet. There she is, standing outside her brownstone and looking like she walked straight out of my wildest fantasy. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t take this route in the hopes of “bumping” into her. Usually, I run through the park, but ever since we ceased our private interactions, I’ve taken up running Fifth Avenue instead.

  She’s no longer in her uniform. Thank God. But this outfit isn’t much better. She’s got tight ass jeans on, and boots that go all the way up to her thighs.

  I shake the dirty thoughts out of my head and mentally tack on two more miles. She turns her head toward me and our eyes meet. I jog in place as she makes her way to me.

  “Hi,” she mutters under her breath.

  “Hey.”

  “You do run a lot, don’t you?”

  “I love it. You can say running is the best thing that ever came out of Cranbrook. Well, second best.” Fuck, did I just say that? I’m supposed to cut that shit out and give us a clean break.

  “What’s the best?” she asks. Unshed tears shimmer in her eyes, and my heart lurches in my chest. She’s about to cry, and it’s my fault.

  I shouldn’t answer. I shouldn’t tell her she’s the best thing, but her expression could bring me to my knees. “You.” I watch as her mouth opens and shuts with my confession. Her lips tip up, and a small crystal drop drips down her nose.