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Wayward High School
Sixteen years ago
The party was well underway.
Maisie smiled in her beer as she roamed the room.
Cindy Barstow was hanging all over her boyfriend, Wallis. Talk about nauseating. A couple sure to be named most likely to be total losers in their senior yearbook. While their illustrious host, Chuckie Fester, was doing his signature swirly dance.
Ironically, despite his goofy behavior and parents with a lifelong VIP Burning-Man membership, he never used drugs.
Rather, he was strongly opposed to them. Probably because his parents were too self-absorbed, searching for their next transcendental high—with a little help from synthetic pharmaceuticals—than spending any quality time with their only teenage son.
Maisie knew where his parents kept their drugs. In some funky carved wooden box that screamed,“Hey, law enforcement personnel, this is where we keep our stash.”
Morons.
Earlier, while everyone was setting up the keg, she went upstairs saying she needed to use the bathroom.
With some impressive stealth, she entered the room belonging to Chuckie’s parents instead.
In the middle of the room was a king-sized waterbed. So cliché. With several plants in macrame hangers flanking the windows, the drapes some sort of tie-dye crap that was supposed to express free love and instead screamed poor taste.
Moving toward the dresser, she helped herself to the contents of the wooden box sitting in plain sight, smack-dab in front of the mirror. She rolled her eyes, imagining virtual neon lights with a flashing arrow toward the box.
If Chuckie’s drug-addled parents were going to keep it out in the open like this, then she had no choice but to consider the contents community property.
It was rather irresponsible of them. You want to keep your shit to yourself? Then lock it down.
Maisie smiled as she removed several plastic baggies marked on one side with Sharpie pens, indicating what exactly she was stealing.
What lovely customer service.
She grabbed a baggie with “Molly” written in black Sharpie. Wasn’t that the stuff that made you super horny? Yes, please, and thank you. And then decided to get a little creative choosing another baggie labeled “Dice.” Slang for cocaine. Why not? All the cool kids were doing it. And proceeded to add the powder to the vial she’d brought with her.
Apparently, whoever had been labeling the bags at the time must have also been partaking as they had drawn hearts and exclamation points around those preferred. A number was written on the upper right-hand corner, and she wondered if it were part of a rating system or the price tag?
Pulling together her concoction, unsure of the amounts and crossing her fingers they weren’t lethal, she lowered the lid to the box and darted into the bathroom, thinking Chuckie’s parents probably kept it cleaner than the one in the hallway or downstairs.
She washed her hands. Because she was a lady. Drying them on the snowy white towels and using the fancy hand cream beside the sink.
Gently, she opened the door to see if anyone was standing outside of the hallway bathroom waiting their turn. Empty.
She must be living right.
Humming, she made her way back downstairs, volunteering benevolently to man the keg while everyone mingled and danced with inebriated oblivion.
It was all too easy
Soon, she would be losing her virginity to her one true love, Lucas Santos, and giving her whore of a sister the proverbial middle finger of epic proportions.
She reconsidered the amount of drugs in the vial tucked in her front pocket. Maybe she could hit two birds with one stone?
Maybe some of the boys would enjoy getting a taste of her sister while she availed herself of Lucas?
Just a little added fuel to the burning stake of Birdie’s reputation.
