AllFreeNovel
Share Us
She withdraws a joint from the baggie. “This is the
last of my supply. Once this is gone, I swear not to sell again for the rest of this year. ”
Easy promise, since there are only minutes left until the new year begins. Abby’s not a fan of what she does, but she’s good at business and at selling. If she could ever get the hell off the streets she’d probably become someone. “You don’t have to sell,” I say.
“You didn’t have to street race. ”
Point taken.
Abby stares out over the blinking lights of the city. “I saw my dad today. ” I hear the hurt in her voice.
My heart aches for her. Before I can think of something to say to help her feel better, she continues, “I was going to share this with you, but now I don’t think I want to. ” Abby extends the joint to me. “You can have it. ”
I roll the joint in my hand: two inches long and thin. I first smoked up in eighth grade and hated the loss of control. But hanging with the people I knew, surviving in the homes I lived in, I learned quick how to blend in and conform. It’s amazing what you can convince people of just by touching a joint to your lips. “Are you sure you don’t want it?”
She shakes her head. I place the joint between my thumb and forefinger and snap it over the thirty-foot drop. Abby claps. “Well played. ” She hoots, then yells, “Happy fucking New Year, nature. You can have your shit back. ”
Abby lapses into silence. Somewhere in the distance below, glass shatters. Most likely a home invasion. The sad part is, neither one of us flinch.
“I knew you’d gone straight,” Abby says. “I take that back—not gone straight, but that you weren’t as hard-core as everyone thinks. ”
“I know,” I respond. Abby is the one person who has always known. When everyone else was higher than kites, she’d look over and realize that I was sober—because she was, too.
“If I had asked, you would have smoked it with me,” she says.
I nod. Because she wouldn’t have wanted to do it alone, and because the only reason she would have done it is because it hurt her so much to see her dad. “I would have taken a hit. ” One. Because that’s the most I’d ever take with anyone.
Her phone beeps. “One minute to the New Year. ”
I stare at her in shock. “You set your alarm?”
Abby raises her face to the sky. “Maybe next year will be better. ” She’s been saying that forever. I reach into my jacket and extract a lighter. Abby smiles because she knows what I’m about to do. “Do you want me to count it down?” she asks.
“Up to you. ”
Abby watches her phone and counts from ten to two. The moment she says one I flick my lighter and hold the single flame into the night.
That’s right, world: one more year has passed and I’m still fucking here.
Chapter 18
Rachel
I OVERSLEPT. LAST NIGHT, I had a hard time falling asleep as my mind replayed the events of winter break. I worried over Isaiah and Ethan and school and Mom and lies and. . . Isaiah. Like always, sleep eventually came, but not without consequences.
I’m late. Not really late as in school-will-start-soon late. But late as in I-have-a-routine-and-I’m-not-keeping-it late. West calls it superstition. I call him an idiot. My days, they go better if I follow the tradition: an apple and one slice of toast for breakfast, watch the first few minutes of the morning news, double-check my backpack, drive the long way to school and sit in my car for five minutes before walking into the school building.
Mom stopped me yesterday and I missed breakfast. That one deviation created a snowball effect that ended with me having to read a poem aloud in class. I barely hid the panic overtaking me, and I hated how Ethan’s now-observant eyes noted the way the heat flushed up my neck.
Pulling a sweater over my school uniform, I bolt out of my bathroom, gather my scattered books off my bed and try to stuff them into my backpack as I race down the winding staircase.
Loud voices echoing from my father’s office cause me to skid to a halt halfway down the stairs.
“Again?” my father yells, and my stomach drops. It’s West. Dad only shouts like this at West. “Four fights alone since the school year began. When is it going to end?”
The fights. The chink in my brother’s perfect armor. Honestly, West has gotten into more than four fights at school this year, but those were the ones broken up by some authority figure. God only knows how many he’s been in outside of school walls. West is an easygoing enough guy, but when someone pushes him too far, West always pushes back. Part of me envies him that fearlessness.
“The fight happened last week,” West replies in a low tone. “Did your secretary just now get around to telling you about it or was this the first time you could fit me into your schedule?” Mom must be gone if they’re arguing so openly.
