Heroine(65)

But it wasn’t easy. None of it has been. So tonight, I reward myself.

I clean a spot on my bicep and give myself a bump more than usual. Mom’s not home. I can get high, chase that feeling I remember all the way back from the hospital after the accident.

When we were little in gym class I always loved rope days, when we’d file in to find that Mrs. Mancetti had unhooked the big ropes from the side of the wall and put mats underneath them. She always gave us a choice: we could climb to the top, or sit on the big knot at the bottom and she would swing us. Three pushes were all we got, but I reveled in every second, hair flying back from my face, classmates looking up as I flew past them, then back again.

Then Mrs. Mancetti would grab the tail of the rope and my momentum would be gone, the rush of wind taken from me, my hair flat against my head, my feet back on the ground, returned to the same plane as the other kids, relegated to normality.

Right now there’s no one to grab the rope, no one to take the rush away from me. So I load a little extra in the syringe, and I go far, far higher than everyone else.





Chapter Forty-Three


interference: the act of coming into collision, being in opposition, or clashing

“Mickey and Luther sitting in a tree,” Big Ed sings at me as soon as I walk through the doors on Monday.

“Seriously?” I say, and hold up a finger in warning before he can start the next verse.

“Sorry, had to do it,” he says, in a tone that tells me he has no regrets. “Haven’t seen you in a while. Thought maybe you were . . . busy.”

“I have been, but not with Luther. We’re not even at the K-I-S-S-I-N-G part, so don’t go debating what sport our kids will be better at just yet.”

“Fair enough,” Ed says, sliding coffee—he adds a doughnut—to me. “Heard you signed with Vencella.”

“I did,” I tell him, the happiness of it followed quickly by fear, the smallest of dips in my stomach. It first happened when the coach called me to let me know how thrilled she was I’d chosen their school, then passed along information about summer camps, and freshman move-in day.

I put them in my phone, with exclamation points. I have to be clean by then.

It’s my new plan, a hard cutoff date for when the heroin stops being a fallback. The season is blowing past me, and if I can just see this through, I’ll have the entire summer to dial back my usage and get my shit together.

“Well, congratulations, kiddo,” Ed says. “Playing D3 is no small potatoes, and Vencella’s a good school.”

“Yep,” I say, in agreement, but my mind is elsewhere. Right now getting my shit together consists of trying to not get any in my pants. “Use your bathroom, Ed?”

“You know the way.”

I do, but something entirely new greets me when I open the door. Ed’s bathroom is flooded in a strange light, and when I look up at the bare bulb in the ceiling, I see that it’s blue. I do my thing, wash up, and inspect my reflection in this new environment.

“What’s up with the bathroom, Ed?” I ask.

“That’s for the junkies,” he says, flipping a towel over his shoulder. “They started doing it up at the truck stop when a guy OD’d in their bathroom last week. I don’t need anybody dying in my place.”

“I don’t get it,” I say. “How’s it stop them?”

“Can’t see their veins under blue lights,” Ed says, confident in what he’s been told.

“Huh,” I say, and try to pay him for the doughnut. He doesn’t let me, but that’s not why I’m smiling when I walk out.

Any user worth a damn can find their veins by feel.

I might have front-loaded a little too much.

Thursday morning I’m still high when my alarm goes off. I make an assessment in the mirror. It’s hard to tell if my pupils are still a little pinned because of the light in the bathroom or if I actually look as fucked up as I feel. I try flicking the lights on and off, but my pupils don’t change size.

I’m considering not going to school when I get a text from Coach. Game with Baldwin Union moved to TODAY 4:30 @ HOME

It’s quickly followed by a message from Carolina, sent to the Bellas, me, and Lydia. Uniform NOT CLEAN. Sorry if you’re downwind.

Then one from Lydia: It’s Center’s shorts I’m more worried about.

Dammit, that squat was last month, Lydia. Let it go.

You’re the one that let it go.

They go on like that, back and forth. I mute my phone and do a quick Google search, learning that if I take some Benadryl it should dilate my pupils. The downside is I’m going to be lagging through school, but hopefully my eyes will be normal by the time the Benadryl wears off and I’ll be awake enough to play a ball game.

I have no idea on dosage so I take three Benadryl and put on sunglasses before heading out the door. It’s bright enough outside to justify it, so I keep them on all the way to my locker, not sliding them off until I have to, and then sharing a casual glance with the girl next to me to see if she reacts.

She doesn’t. I must look okay.

The Benadryl hits me in second period. It’s like a wall, but one built entirely out of feathers. My head dips into my chest and I jerk awake when the bell rings. I duck into the bathroom before study hall. I don’t look high, but I don’t exactly look right either. I don’t know if a doctor could say what is going on at a glance, but you definitely don’t need a degree to tell that something is. I walk into study hall and Nikki immediately moves her books and tells me to put my head down.