Billie's car was matte black and absolutely stunning. I wondered how she'd gotten it. A job? Or a gift from her parents? My guess was the latter. Not that I could really judge her for that--my car had been given to me, as well.
We drove to the party at eight something. Billie had rolled the windows down, and there was a Frank Ocean song playing on the radio. It smelled like rain.
Neither of us said much during the drive. I focused instead on the passing scenery, which consisted of massive beachfront mansions and scraggly shrubbery. The sky was darkening overhead, and in the distance, storm clouds hung low over the ocean, swollen with rain yet to be released.
When we arrived at the house where the party was taking place, it was already bursting with people. Girls in halter tops and mini skirts were chattering on the porch, a group of boys were sipping beers by the garage, and a whole bunch of cars were pulling into the driveway.
Billie parked, rolled up the windows, and glanced over at me.
"How did you even get invited to this?" she asked.
I shrugged. "This guy at the supermarket invited me."
She laughed, like I had made a joke. I hated it when people did that--laughed at random times.
We got out of the car and walked inside the house. It was huge, a modern-style place with sleek floors and white walls. The lights had been dimmed and there were flashing LEDs coloring the whole place purple, blue and red.
Billie disappeared into the throngs of people, leaving me alone in the middle of the kitchen. I walked over to the island counter, where there were dozens of bottles of booze clustered around. I picked up a thing of tequila and poured some into a shot glass.
Throat and eyes burning, I left the kitchen after two shots of tequila. I reminded myself of the reason I was there--which I'd forgotten for a while, and upon recalling it, realized taking two shots probably wasn't a very good idea--and began scouring the rooms for what I was looking for.
It was in what appeared to be the dining room that I found it. Two guys, in the corner, leaned up against the wall. They put their hands together in what looked like a handshake, but I knew better.
I waited until one of the guys pocketed whatever had just been given to him through the "handshake" exchange and then approached the other guy. Up close, I realized he was the guy who had invited me to the party in the first place.
"Hi," I said, having to practically shout over the music blaring from practically everywhere in the house. The guy looked at me, and recognition shot through his face. He grinned.
"Hey. You're from the supermarket, right?"
"Yeah."
"I'm Hugh. This is my house. I would've told you my name earlier, but you basically sprinted away from me."
I laughed in spite of myself. "Sorry. I was in a hurry. And, I'm Camille."
"Camille. Cool."
I wondered why this kid, who clearly had money--or, at least, his family did--was working as a cashier at the supermarket. I'd never known any wealthy kid like him to do such a thing. The guys from back home spent their free time drinking beer and golfing or fishing.
I could already tell I liked Hugh. And he hadn't even sold me any drugs yet.
*
Somehow I found myself in Hugh's bedroom. But, like, not in the way you're thinking. Because yes, we all know you were thinking that.
No, I was in there because he'd had to get me some stuff. A few Adderall, that was all I'd wanted. We exchanged numbers so I could contact him if I needed something, and also because I secretly thought it might be nice to have him as a friend.
When I'd given him the money I brought and he'd given me the Adderall, he told me that he wouldn't have ever guessed that I would've done this.
"I mean, I kinda wondered if you were a little bit of a bitch, but you also seemed scared of everything, so I just assumed you were, like, not into this sorta..." he trailed off, shrugging.
I smiled. "I wouldn't have thought you were, either! I mean, your family is obviously loaded. Why are you even working as a fucking cashier? I bet your parents could buy the whole grocery store."
He scratched the back of his neck. "I like working. And, oh yeah, my dad basically cut me off. He said I need to learn how to work for what I get. Which I guess is respectable, but. Egh."
"But you don't even need to be a cashier. You could earn a lot off just dealing."
"True, but I don't want anyone to get suspicious when I pull out money even though they think I don't have a job. And being a cashier is easy, anyway. I kinda like it."
"You like being a cashier?"
"I mean, it's not my passion to bag cereal boxes all day, but it's kind of relaxing to just scan everything, put it in a bag, do it over and over again. Satisfying, y'know?"
"Huh. Maybe." I could hear the party growing wilder and wilder downstairs. But up here, in his room, it was peaceful. Blissful. The music was faint, the people were fewer, the air smelled less of sweat. However, I also was starting to get tired. My head sort of hurt. It was late.
"I'm gonna go," I said, turning and leaving his room. Hugh followed.
The second I set foot in the hallway outside his room, I froze. Billie was leaned up against the wall across from me, talking to some girl, and her eyes widened when she saw first me, then Hugh, leaving his bedroom.
"Um. Hugh?" Billie breathed, which was when I realized that they were friends. Hugh was laughing, and he looked first at me, then at her.
"It's not what it looks like! I swear!" Hugh cried. I nodded fervently.
"Really? Because it looks like you guys were just fucking," Billie said. "That's just disgusting, Hugh. She's literally staying with my family for this whole summer."
"We weren't. Seriously. We were just--uh--hanging out," I breathed. "Nothing weird happened."
Billie narrowed her eyes at me, and although she was smiling, there was something about her demeanor that made me wonder if she was...jealous?
Did she like Hugh?
"I'm gonna go now," Hugh said, pointing behind him. He looked anxious to get away from the whole situation. Me too, Hugh.
I waved goodbye to him with one hand, while the other hovered over the pocket where I held the Adderall.
"I was about to go find you, actually. We should probably leave soon. It's late," Billie said.
"Okay."
I followed her out of the house, exhausted. I felt sweaty. My eyelids were heavy, my limbs ached. My throat was dry.
We climbed into Billie's car and she pulled out of the driveway, beginning to drive home. This time, the car was eerily quiet. The radio was off, the windows were up.
The moon shone overhead, a sliver of pale light that, through my blurry vision, looked almost angelic. Sitting up there, all alone, in the inky darkness of the sky. Maybe it was the fact that I was drunk, but for some reason, I suddenly felt really fucking bad for the moon.
When we arrived back home, we crept inside silently. I hadn't really been clear on whether or not Maggie was okay with us going to the party, but based on how quiet Billie was being, I was guessing she had some sort of curfew.
Finally, I was back alone in my bedroom. I walked over to the window and looked out at the ocean. Then I took the baggie with the Adderall out of my pocket. I grabbed a credit card from my wallet, set the Adderall on my nightstand, and began crushing it up. Then I took a one dollar bill, already rolled, and swiped it over the line of crushed Adderall.
God, I'd missed this.
The pure bliss of it all made me want to cry. My mother sent me here because she had discovered my problems with this stuff. Addiction, the doctors called it. But I could still get all the same things here. Sure, I might have to jump through another hoop or two, but the end results were still achievable. I could still do this.
I propped up a blank canvas on my easel, opened my paints and grabbed my brush. Now I could do this. Now I could paint. Now I could make beautiful things. Because I was happy. I was alive. There was no numbness in me--my senses were all sharp, my mind was bright. I could escape this way. I could do this.
I could be okay like this.