Heroine(74)

“You Edith’s girls?”

“Yeah,” Josie says as we get closer.

“Let’s make this quick,” he says, glancing around. “I’ve got CVS, Zombie Eater, and a couple of Five-Toed Cat with me.”

“Uh . . .” Josie’s face goes blank. She looks to me for help.

“What are you even saying?” I ask him.

He cocks his head, like I’m the one not making sense. “You want heroin, right?”

“Yes,” Josie and I say at the same time.

“So . . .” He pulls something out of his pocket, a little white baggie with a stamp of a cat’s face on it.

“Black tar,” Josie tells him. “That’s what we want.”

She says it like we have a preference or something, not like it’s because we have no idea how to mix anything else.

He jams the bag back into his pocket, offended. “That Mexican shit?”

“Are you seriously trying to guilt me into buying American right now?” Josie snaps.

“Hey, girlie.” He raises his voice, bringing his finger up to Josie’s face. “I fought for this country and I don’t need—”

“Fought for this country?” Josie repeats, cutting him off. “Against Mexico? Is one of your bags called Remember the Alamo?”

“Okay, okay.” I step in between them. “This is not helping. How much?”

Mentioning money brings the bag back out and improves his mood. “How much you need?”

The truth is, I have no idea. This is like me trying to play basketball, running up and down a court instead of in a diamond. I don’t know how strong his stuff is or how much it’ll take to put me in fighting shape tomorrow.

“I’ve got a hundred bucks,” Josie says, pulling out cash.

I’m not an expert at buying drugs, but I do know she just fucked up. Now he knows what we’ve got, on top of knowing that we’re out of our element. He can tell us that’ll only get us one bag and we’re in no position to argue. In the end, he hands over five bags—two with the cat face, one with a zombie on it, and two—bizarrely—stamped with the Starbucks logo.

“Let me know when you need me,” he says, getting back in the car. “Have fun, kids.”

I don’t like this. I don’t like him and his stamp bags and how he told us to have fun rather than telling us to be safe, the way Patrick does. But Josie doesn’t share my reservations, is already texting Luther and Derrick, letting them know to come to her place instead of Edith’s. I’m highly aware of the syringe I brought from home, loaded with something I’m familiar with. We get to Josie’s and she takes me straight downstairs to a den, where we dump the bags on the coffee table and Google for advice on how to shoot powder.

It really shouldn’t be this easy.

Josie is drawing up a needle for herself when Derrick and Luther come busting down the stairs, bringing with them the smell of clear, cool outside air.

“What’s up, ladies?” Derrick asks, polite enough to make it plural but too transparent to look at anyone but Josie.

“Yeah, what is up?” Luther echoes, but his eyes are on the table and the different setup going on there.

“Trying something new,” Josie says breezily. “Couldn’t get ahold of Patrick.”

“Cool, cool,” Derrick says, flopping onto the couch next to her. “I’m in.”

Luther looks at me before answering, but I avoid his eyes, focusing on my phone. By the time they get their own needles together I’m stifling a yawn as I pull my own syringe out of my hoodie.

“The fuck?” Josie gives me a dirty look. “You said you were out?”

“This is nothing,” I say, then tell everyone about taking a piss on my last balloon.

“Fuuuuuuuck,” Derrick says, tying off his arm. “I would’ve fished that out, piss or no piss.”

I definitely thought about it, but Mom made sure I flushed, any last suspicions she had circling the septic tank along with my heroin.

Derrick nods off, then Luther, and Josie asks me to dim the lights. I do it, yawning as I go, the massive load of food in my belly dragging me into sleepiness. My phone goes off. A text from Mom.

Where are you?

At Carolina’s—last game, senior year, getting together.

Home soon.

I send along a selfie of me with Carolina and Lydia, faces crammed together. It’s from a party at her place months ago.

K. Have fun. Don’t stay out too late!

“I can’t hang out,” I remind Josie as she ties off and I sit down next to her.

“You going to do that here?” she asks, nodding toward my syringe.

I consider it. Taking anything back home would be stupid after such a close call with Mom, and what little is in the dose I scraped together will only take the edge off the withdrawal, not put me anywhere I can’t function.

“Yeah, sure,” I say, rolling up my own sleeve.

“I still say you were holding out on me,” Josie says, pouting.

“Seriously?” I ask, searching my bicep for a good spot. I find one and shoot, the warmth inside now matching the basement, my breath slowing, my heart relaxing.

“Whatever,” Josie says, plunging her syringe. Her head rolls back. “Bitch.” She smiles as she nods out.