Bubblegum and Cigarettes

3

"Are you drunk?" Mum asked when I wobbled through the front door sometime after five. I shook my head, adamant that I was completely sober. "You better not be."

"Mum," I ignored her probes at my drunkenness as I sat down heavily on the bottom stair. She paused. "I think the headmaster flirted with me at lunch."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"I'm not," I had to fight to keep the slur from my voice. "He said he liked my skirt." Mum didn't get it, she laughed and walked away. If she'd been there, if she'd seen it then she would've agreed. "What's his name?" I continued as I headed after her, using the banister to pull myself up.

"I don't know, John I think. Or maybe David. I can't remember." She was in the lounge folding up ironing into two respective piles: mine and hers.

I sat on the floor with my legs crossed while popping bubblegum; my homework sprawled out around me. Mum and I stayed in the same room, companionably quiet as we went about our business. She had the telly on, some music channel that skipped to the adverts every five seconds. For someone that moaned about the amount of adverts in this world she didn't really help herself. I was midway through a shaky looking essay when my phone began vibrating beside me.

"Don't let yourself get distracted, Jessica," mum warned as if she knew I was slipping from the righteous path.

"I won't," I mumbled as I answered the phone. Clarissa was wondering if I was free tonight. Mum turned sharply and made scary eye contact with me. Pulling a face I was forced to decline. "There," I smiled horribly at my mother, "You've trapped me for another night." Mum tutted and stormed out of the room.

    A week had passed by and things were really looking good for me...in a social sense. Academically things were probably not so great. Clarissa was fantastic. Her dad had friends 'high up' that sold him tickets to shows at an actual affordable price. Practically every other weekend Clarissa was off somewhere to some concert. Last weekend it had been Bonjovi.

"Oh God," Clarissa muttered in my ear as we sat in the cafeteria one lunch. "Look who it is. Keep your money close he'll try to charm it out of you." She was of course referring to Dylan who had just broken away from a small group of boys and was making a beeline toward us. I tucked some hair behind my ear and sat up a little straighter, refusing to break eye contact with him. I wasn't intimidated or afraid. He probably wouldn't sell anything to me regardless.

"Hello ladies," he greeted curtly, sitting down even though there was no space. We were forced to smash up into each other. "Now I hate to be a bother," he spoke without any of the shyness he'd first inhibited when we originally spoke. "But some of you owe me." His eyes directly fixed on Clarissa who was staring at her lap, hair pouring around her as a poor defence.

"Piss off Dylan," Rachel hissed like a goose, "We don't want you here."

"Not my fault some of you have a nasty habit."

"Dylan," my eyes were wide with horror. As I was sitting next to Clarissa I could feel her violently trembling. He was doing that. This was on him. He looked at me just as emotionlessly as he had at Rachel. I was nothing. "She hasn't got the money."

"That's alright," he smiled humorlessly; it made my stomach twist horribly. My skin crawled with a thousand tiny creatures. "I'll have to stop the supply though," He chuckled. "And plus each day you don't pay the price will go up. What? Why are you crying Clarissa?"

"Ok you made your point," I pushed up from the table and in the limited space I glowered at Dylan. Physically standing up to him apparently took him completely off guard and he stared stunned. "I don't care who you are you don't fuck with me or my friends."