THE NEXT MORNING, I decide to take Zoe's advice and rid my room of the marijuana. At the moment, there are many things in my life that I can't control, but this is one of the few things I can.
I remember her telling me that I could give it to James, deeming that to be the safest option, since he's a friend, and throwing it out would only leave it in a place where people could find it. I ask him beforehand, of course, and he agrees to take it.
My legs tremble all the way to school, and I try not to flinch every time someone looks in my direction, fearful that somehow they can see through the contents of my backpack. I tell myself to relax, to play it cool, knowing that if I look like a basket case, it'll make it obvious that I'm hiding something.
But my feeling of unease only increases when I reach the heavy doors of the front entrance, the flurry of students and prying eyes doing little to quell the panic rising in my chest. I will admit, bringing a bag of weed into a high school is a pretty dumb idea, but it seemed to make sense at the time. I'm deeply regretting that decision now.
I shove my backpack inside my locker, though it barely fits around my other books, and heave a sigh of relief, blowing away a few strands of my hair. I grab my English notebook and my copy of Hamlet, then slam the door shut.
Moments later, Dylan, Zoe, and James materialize beside me, and the sight of the three of them together never fails to make me think of some elite celebrity clique, looking out of place in the dull halls of Pender Falls. My face must reflect my inner distress, because they all look quite amused.
"Morning, sunshine," Dylan says sarcastically, raising an eyebrow.
I give him a withering look, and he grins.
Zoe folds her arms, blue eyes silently assessing me as they always do, but since our relationship has become a little rocky these past few days, she seems to be measuring the weight of her words a little more, which I appreciate. "What's up with you?"
Sighing, I reach up, tucking my hair behind both of my ears. "Sorry, I'm just a little jumpy because I have... a delivery." They all blink simultaneously. "In my locker."
My hinting receives no response as they all stare at me blankly, and I press my lips together in frustration.
"You know," I urge, raising my eyebrows, "from our friend, Mary Jane."
"Oh, right," James says, nodding. "The weed."
Leaning back against my locker, I resist the urge to roll my eyes. "I guess there was no point in me being discreet."
His mouth breaks into a face-splitting grin as he shrugs his large shoulders carelessly. "Sorry," he says, though he doesn't seem apologetic in the slightest. "So you have it then?"
"Yeah," I say quietly, sighing and folding my arms, glancing around the hallway to see if anyone seems like they're paying attention to our conversation. "In my backpack. When do you want it?"
"We can trade at lunch," he decides, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a wad of money. "I've got cash."
My eyes widen. "Put that away," I hiss, causing them to laugh. "I told you, you don't need to pay me. I'm not your drug dealer."
He maintains his sunny disposition, slinging an arm around my shoulder, earning an unimpressed glare from Dylan. "Hate to break it to you, doll, but for today, that's exactly what you are."
✘✘✘
English class is stifling, as it usually is.
Mason Byrne is sitting in his seat next to mine, and something about his presence makes it hard to ignore. As two students read the play aloud, I peer in his direction. He keeps his eyes riveted to his book, though somehow I know he's aware of me looking at him. I still can't seem to get a proper read on the guy, and I've been dying to talk to him outside of class ever since what went down at the fair, but he's impressively elusive, disappearing the minute it ends, hard to locate throughout the day.
Halfway through the period, a gentle tap sounds on the door, and everyone looks up from their books in the direction. Mr. Warren stands up from his desk.
"Keep reading, guys," he urges, glancing at the pair briefly, who follow his directions, as he approaches the door, pulling it open and stepping outside.
He remains there for a few moments, and I find my eyes keep drifting to the door, wondering who he's talking to, and what could be so important that he needed to be interrupted in the middle of a class.
But then he reenters the room and his eyes land on me deliberately. I feel myself freeze.
"Alina," he says, confirming my fears and causing me to frown.
There's the sound of shifting seats as everyone turns to look at me, Hamlet and Gertrude ceasing their reading. I open my mouth to respond, looking at Zoe, whose eyebrows are raised in interest, but Mr. Warren gestures for me to approach him. I stand from my seat shakily, pushing back my chair.
I walk up the aisle, past all of the watchful eyes of my classmates, turning right at the front of the room, towards the door. Swallowing, I take one last glance around the room, catching a glimpse of the upturning of Mason's lips before I exit the classroom.
I find the principal and a school resource officer waiting for me in the hallway, and my eyes widen. I look to Mr. Warren for help, but he simply gives me a solemn look, before stepping back into the room and closing the door, resuming the class.
"Um, hi," I say dumbly.
Principal Clayborn's face is stern. His arms are folded, and professional anger is radiating from his posture. He's an older man, dancing somewhere on the line between late fifties and early sixties, and his hair has gone grey and thin on the top of his head.
The officer next to him, a burly man, doesn't look very pleased either. His hands are loosely placed on his hips, his lips rolled in a firm line.
"Let's take a walk, Ms. Castillo," Clayborn says firmly.
"Okay," I stammer nervously, not wanting to cause more trouble than I seem to have already caused.
They begin to walk down the hallway, and I quickly follow them, thankful that class is still going on and the hallways are empty, despite the fact that being called out of English made a bit of a scene. I'm sure that will give people something to talk about.
After a while, I can't stand the lack of answers. "Can I ask what's going on?" I muster as much politeness into my tone as I can manage, not wanting to overstep any unknown boundaries.
Clayborn waits another moment before answering. "We received a report that gave us reason to perform a search on the contents of your locker."
With that sentence, I feel my stomach drop to my feet and my face pale. Fight or flight mode kicks in and I have to resist the urge to run. Someone most likely overheard our conversation this morning. I curse myself mentally for being such an idiot, and follow the pair to my locker, trying to think of a way to get myself out of this situation, but coming up empty-handed.
They pause in front of it, and the officer gestures to it, telling me without words to unlock it. My gaze shifts between the two of them, hoping some last-ditch solution will come to mind at the last second, but of course, that doesn't happen, and Clayborn begins to get impatient, so I take a deep breath, stepping forward and twirling the dial according to my combination.
I keep my hand on it a moment longer, stalling for time, before releasing it and taking a step back. They begin rifling through my books, until they pull out my backpack, and I swallow nervously. The officer digs through it as they mumble to each other, and my pulse thunders.
And then he stops searching and I stop breathing.
Unable to avert my eyes any longer, I catch sight of the officer straightening up slowly, the bag of marijuana in his hand. Two sets of eyes shift in my direction, and I feel my throat drying up as I try to explain.
"Were you aware that this was in your backpack?" Clayborn asks, his eyebrows raised.
My last chance to get out of this. I stare at the little bag in the officer's hand as he holds it up with a sneer. They both wait expectantly as I flounder, my mouth opening and closing. And then I decide to turn on the supposed actress inside of me. I increase my breathing, slowly starting to shake my head. "No," I breathe dramatically. "I—I've never seen that before. Someone must have put it there."
The two men share a dubious look, and I take on a hurt expression.
"You think I'm lying?" I question, my voice barely above a whisper, before shrugging my shoulders. "Of course you do. Who's going to believe the amnesiac, right? I probably put it there and forgot about it."
They glance at each other again, looking more uncomfortable this time.
But then Clayborn sighs, and I know I've lost. "Give it a rest, Castillo," he says, sounding too exhausted with my antics to be annoyed.
"I swear—"
"We need to have a chat in my office," he effectively cuts me off, gesturing down the hallway for me to lead the way.
Resigning myself to defeat, I begin to make for the direction of his office. But before I get too far, I stop short, turning around to face them. "I have another question," I say, clearing my throat.
"Ms. Castillo—"
"Can I phone my lawyer first?"
✘✘✘
Sofia is furious.
The air in the car is thick with tension on the way home from school, and her posture is rigid, her knuckles white from clenching the steering wheel so tightly. Needless to say, she wasn't overjoyed when I phoned her from Principal Clayborn's office and explained my current predicament to her. Still, she left work to come talk with him while I waited on a bench outside of the room.
I'm angry, too. Someone has it out for me.
I rest my head against the cool window of the car, my lips pressed together tightly, and I glance at the woman next to me, seething in her anger.
"Sometimes I don't know what to do with you," she hisses, keeping her hazel eyes on the road instead of looking at me. I don't say anything, shifting my gaze to stare at the window at the trees going by in a blur.
I bristle slightly, but I don't engage.
"Before your accident," she begins, looking over her shoulder before turning a corner, "you would pull stunts like this all of the time. I thought you would have a new perspective now, and try to change, but it seems like you're falling back into your old ways again."
This time I cut my eyes in her direction, narrowing them in a glare.
She shakes her head, pursing her lips. "I had to leave work for this," she snaps. "I was in the middle of a meeting with an important client." She looks at me briefly, her eyes flashing. "You're lucky I was able to get you a mere suspension while I was in this bad of a mood."
At that, I curl my lips up in a sardonic smile. "Thank you," I emphasize sarcastically.
She scoffs, her eyes darting between me and the road. "Don't you give me that tone."
Sighing angrily, I drop my shoulders. "You could be a little easier on me, you know," I tell her finally, my own voice raising. "My life sucks right now."
She raises her eyebrows, the action sharp and quick. "Oh, so that makes it okay for you to turn to drugs?"
Rolling my eyes, I lean back in my seat, pressing my finger to my temple, feeling a headache coming on. "I told you, the weed wasn't for me," I mutter.
"You're right, Alina, that makes everything better," she says sarcastically, before turning onto our street.
I feel tears prick to my eyes and I take a deep breath. "I could do without you criticizing me all the time," I say quietly, fighting to keep my voice even. "Not everything I do is a personal attack on you."
She doesn't say anything after that, but the air has grown even more stifling, and I resist the temptation to crack a window open, my cheeks warm with frustration. We pull into the driveway, and she puts the car into park, leaving it running. I put my hand on the door handle, preparing to exit, before pausing, looking at her once more.
Her eyes are riveted to the house. "I'm going back to work," she murmurs. "Stay out of trouble.
Choosing not to comment any further, I open the door, stepping out of the vehicle and slamming it behind me. Stalking towards the house, I burst through the front door. I throw off my backpack, taking my feet out of my shoes and hanging up my coat.
"Mom?" I hear Audrey's voice call.
Moments later, she appears around the corner, her face pulling into a frown of confusion at the sight of me. Her brunette hair is hanging in front of her face as she regards me, a book in her hands. "What are you doing home so early? Not feeling well?"
"I got in trouble," I say, irritation coming through in my voice, before I brush past her into the kitchen, making for my room.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"Nope," I reply promptly, before reaching the first step and making my way up the rest of the stairs.
The sight of my bed is a sweet relief, and I head straight for it, flopping down onto the surface, feeling it bounce beneath my weight a little. I press my face into the material of my comforter, squeezing my eyes shut.
I don't like the person I've been today. And if what Parker says is true, if a lot of my personality is just an act, I can't imagine behaving this way all of the time without it getting to me. I'm struggling to see the point of acting this way most of the time if it isn't who I truly am. But this line of thinking only serves to make me more confused.
I am lucky that Sofia landed me with a simple two day, at home suspension. It definitely could've been a lot worse. She must be a good lawyer, after all. I didn't get the chance to talk to anyone before I was sent home, but I imagine the news of my suspension has already spread throughout the school like wildfire.
A knock lands on my door a while later, and I roll onto my back, staring at the ceiling.
"Yeah?" I say, and the word sounds more like a sigh than anything.
"Can I come in?"
"Sure."
The door pushes open, revealing Audrey, a small smile on her face as she peers into the room. She's clutching two steaming mugs of something in her hands I notice, after pushing myself up onto my elbows. She steps inside further, then closes the door behind her with her elbow.
She crosses the room, and I sit up as she passes a mug to me. I take it in my hands, feeling it warm my fingers, before looking up at her.
"Hot chocolate," she says, by means of an explanation, taking a seat next to me on the bed. "With a little something extra to take the edge off." She winks.
I can't help the smile that tugs at my lips as I give her a look, bending forward to smell the drink. It smells absolutely delicious, like chocolate and sweets, with a trace of alcohol. I blow on it to cool it off a little, then take a small sip, enjoying the taste that takes over my senses.
"Thanks, Audrey," I say, somewhat sheepishly, regretting being rude to her earlier.
She raises her eyebrows, blowing on the liquid in her own mug. "No problem. You looked like you could use it."
We sit in silence for a while, as I contemplate what to say. I'm not sure whether or not I want to talk to her about what happened today, or confide in her about the way I've been feeling about myself. But I don't think I can, not when she's so oblivious to the way her boyfriend feels about me. It would feel wrong to take advantage of her like that. To become close with her when I'm sitting on a secret that would tear us apart.
So instead, I narrow my eyes, asking, "Why are you being so nice to me?"
Her hazel eyes flicker to mine, widened marginally. "What?" she asks.
"I've been told that we didn't get along in the past," I say. "I'm just wondering what changed."
She loses her look of bewilderment, instead looking mildly forlorn, dropping her eyes and sighing. "Everything," she murmurs. "Everything changed."
I stay silent, giving her time to collect her thoughts, since the question most likely caught her off guard. She reaches over, placing the mug on the nightstand next to my bed, and crossing her legs.
"When you got into that car accident..." she trails off, regarding me with serious eyes. "I thought you were going to die. And it made me realize how poorly we'd been treating each other. All that fighting, the insults, the lies, it all seemed so pointless."
Then she smiles softly, looking at me. "I think we've been given a second chance." I feel my stomach twist with guilt. "I'm not going to take having you as a sister for granted this time. "
Her words leave me falling into an endless pit of anguish, though I do my best to muster up a small smile. Things would be so much easier if we were still mean to each other. "That's really sweet, Audrey."
Finally, I break eye contact, feeling like I can't breathe, then take a long gulp of my hot chocolate. The liquid burns as it courses down my throat, but I don't mind, knowing I deserve a whole lot worse.