Page 43 of The Glass Girl

He mumbles and closes his eyes.

I wait until his breathing gets heavy, then go into the kitchen, push a chair close to the counter, take the bottle of rum from the cabinet, and put it in my backpack.

I text Kristen.

Come get me

So Gucci

…

B there in 10

—

Kristen is with Lemon and Lemon’s friend, who doesn’t go to our school. He’s got scraggly hair and black-rimmed glasses and seems older and doesn’t say much, just looks at me in the rearview mirror as I slide into the back seat. He gives me that chin raise certain guys like to do, that one that meansYo.Why do they do that and not just say hello? I will never figure that out.

Lemon turns around. “Bellllllaaaaaaa. You broke your party probation.”

Holds up his palm. I high-five him. His palm is sticky with something and I wipe my hand on my jeans.

“You got anything?” Kristen asks. “Man, my house was crazy. My mom has, like, twenty people there plus my relatives. They’ve been hitting it since they woke up.”

I pull the bottle of rum out of my backpack and hand it to her. “Sweet,” she crows, unscrewing the cap and taking a drink. She hands it to Lemon, who holds it out to his friend, who waves it off. He’s got a joint in his hand, though. I don’t know whether to be relieved about that or not. Maybe if things get too weird later Kristen and I can Uber home.

Lemon hands the bottle back to me and I take a drink.

I decide not to think about anything. About my promise to Amber. My parents. My grades. Any of it. I’m going to make it all go away. Dull it down. Chop it up. Erase it. For a little while.

Bella,I tell myself.Bella, do it.

And I do.

—

Lemon’s friend’s car is dirty. Polar Pup cups rolling around in the back seat, moldy fast-food wrappers stuck to the floor. Lemon lights up a joint and passes it to his friend. The stereo is too loud, so I put on my headphones and listen to my own music. We drive around. The thing at Killian’s isn’t until later, I think. Kristen was vague when I asked her earlier and said we were just going to chill for a while.

I don’t know where we’re going. We’re just driving around aimlessly. Sound of the engine. Music. Nothing hurting. I slide down in my seat, my body a pool of relaxation.

I take the joint when Lemon’s friend holds it toward the back seat, because why not? What does it matter? It doesn’t matter that I’m breaking the rules, because I don’t care anymore. I’ve never actually smoked pot before and it tastes weird and I cough but all I want to do is feel numb.

I imagine everything I am inside now as a weird sandwich: the NyQuil on the bottom, the rum in the middle, and the weed on top, an odd green top to the sandwich. I giggle. Then Kristen giggles at my giggle and then we’re full-on laughing.

My phone buzzes. Amber.

Hey you,she’s typed.What are you doing?

My brain says:Lie to her.

My heart says:Oh, Bella. Not again.

Happy turkey day,I type.

I start giggling and I can’t stop.

Type:gobble gobble

Funny,she types back.

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