“Pleasant-fuckin’-Grove,” I muttered under my breath, exhaling out a quiet yawn. “Good ol’ Pleasant Grove. Who the hell’d name a town that? Like, _man_-” “Elena, do you _have_ to swear?” Asked my mom, from the passenger seat. I could tell the move was irritating her, stressing her out and whatnot. “Yeah, I do,” I replied, leaning my head back against the cold window, watching the rain drops slowly fall away. I could hear my mom sigh, mutter something to my stepdad, James, but I couldn’t hear exactly what. Probably some anxious remark about me, you know. The bland, flat-land highway began to fade into suburbia. Elderly women crossing the street; kids, just out of school for the day, riding bikes and rushing for whatever; school buses filled with teenagers, rounding corners just about as carefully as a drunk driving towards a cliff on a dark, December night. All that bullshit. “Fucking stupid suburbs,” I muttered, glancing sideways at my mom’s annoyed look. “Fucking stupid. This is all so _fukcing_ pointless, ya know, Mom-” My mom turned around in her seat to glower at me with her barely controlled Mom-wrath: tight lips, wide open eyes, cheeks flushing from red to violet by the second. “Shouldn’t you be a little more grateful, young lady? You’re pretty lucky for all this, all _this_ for _you_. I think you oughta be a _lot_ more grateful, Elena.” “I told you I didn’t wanna leave,” I replied dully, voice bland and harsh, as I lolled my head to the side. “I’d rather have stayed- I don’t give a shit. It was _your_ idea to move, ‘cause _your_ ego is too fuckin’ _massive_ to have ever-” “Elena, stop,” James commanded as he stopped at a red light. “Stop.” “What the fuck do you know, man!” I just about laughed, whipping my head away to look out the window. I crossed my arms, adding, “You just conveniently showed up at the right time, didn’t you? Yeah, man, _you’re_ the lucky one here, not me! How the _fuck_ am _I_ lucky?” When they didn’t answer me, I got really pissed. “Answer me, assholes! How the fuck am I lucky?” “We’re almost there,” said James to my mom, ignoring me. I landed a solid kick in the back of his seat. “I said, how the _fuck_ am I _lucky_?” “It’s a pretty nice old house, you know, Elena.” My mom told me, expression blank. “You haven’t seen it yet, have you?” I sighed, rolled my eyes. “No, I haven’t.” We drove down several residential streets in silence. I stared out the window, each perfect, identical house passing by, with their stupid, smooth driveways, a car or two parked in each. Green, clean-cut lawns. The occasional maple tree. Smooth, sun-heated sidewalks. Very stereotypical. It was the kind of neighborhood that picked out anyone _lesser_ and singled them out until they had to leave, or be killed by fuming, suburban, P.A.C-volunteering, soccer moms, who would snarl and spit at you like rabid animals.   James parked the car. I stared blankly at the house, exactly the same as its neighbours, except for the one-digit difference in the address. “Isn’t it nice!” Squealed my mother in excitement, rushing out of the car. I got out and stood in the driveway, unmoving. I watched James and my mom begin to gather boxes from the trunk, hauling them inside. I grabbed my suitcase, brought it into this house. My mom was already frantically unpacking pots and pans and kitchenware. “Which room’s mine?” I asked, looking around at the empty beige walls, empty beige space, empty beige rooms. “The master bedroom is our’s, and yours is down the hall, across from the bathroom.” “Thanks.” I lugged my ancient suitcase down the hallway, into a dark room with two windows hidden by blinds, a slender closet, and beige carpet, and slightly different beige walls with stained, white trim. I set my suitcase down and just stood there, thinking. Until- “Elena, come get your mattress! What are you doing-” “Nothing.” I strode out, helped James pull my mattress and bed frame into my room. I unpacked all my crap. No furniture besides my bed. I began tacking up my crinkled posters to the boring, sad walls. They were still boring and sad, but at least they had pictures of rockstars on them. My mom walked right in without knocking- that was typically her style- and sighed. “Those damn posters. You shouldn’t be idolizing those junkie freaks just because they can play guitar.” I just blinked at her. “They aren’t junkie freaks, they’re rockstars. Tell me you didn’t admire, like, Elvis or whoever, when you were my age?” “I was your age in _1973_, Elena. And I never liked him, anyway.” I rolled my eyes and finished sticking up my posters, flopped down on my bed. “Well, did ya like Aerosmith?” I knew the answer was no, but I found it funny anyway. My mom leaned her hip against the door frame. “We’re gonna go out to eat tonight,” she said, ignoring the question. “I’m too tired to cook, and we don’t have any food.” “Alright.” It didn’t matter to me where or when we ate. “When?” “I don’t know, a couple of hours.” “Okay.” She left, leaving the door open behind her. After a while of staring at the ceiling wearily, I got up and found my parents assembling furniture, unloading boxes from U-Haul trucks, cleaning up little things. I stood motionless in the hallway, forlornly, kind of lost. It was a Saturday, usually on Saturdays I would be hanging out with my buddies: Gia, Kelly, Speed, and Darren. What was I supposed to do in this place for the next week until school started? “What’s wrong?” Asked James, dusting his hands off on his jeans. “I dunno.” “Why don’t you help your mom set up the new TV?” He suggested, with a phony smile. That’s the thing I never liked about my stepdad; he was a pretty phony guy. “I think I’m good.” I strode right back into my bedroom.

“Aren’t you excited for some back to school stuff, Elena?” My mom grinned, child-like. “What’d you think if I bought you a nice A-line skirt or something? Some nice shoes?” With that, she shot a discreet glare at my torn-up jeans and cheap, old sneakers, which I refused to replace until they could no longer hold my feet. “I’m never wearing one of those dumb preppy skirts, Mom. I’ll look like a fuckin’ future Ivy League kid.” She pursed her lips, eyebrows knit. James patted her on the back and sat down beside us. “A compromise might be nice,” he suggested, always the meditator. I rolled my eyes, finishing my cereal. An hour later, my mom and I were in Pleasant Grove Mall, forever arguing. “I swear to God!” I exhaled, loudly, angrily. “I’m _fifteen_! I don’t have to wear that fucking garbage!” “You have to look respectable for school, Elena, I can’t just let you start off tenth grade looking like a bum!” “Why can’t you? It doesn’t _matter_!” “Yes, it does! How can I be the mother of an infamous freak in _another_ town? Do I have any idea-” “Oh, so now I’m an _infamous freak_, okay! Fine! _Fucking fine!_” Odd glares of suburban stereotypes flashed our way. I could hear whispers, and I knew my mom could, too. But only one of us cared, and it sure as hell wasn’t me. _“Control your daughter,” “Have some decency,” “Some parents really oughta discipline their kids a little more…”_ __ “I don’t know about you,” I said, calmer, to my mom, “but I’m going to the thrift store, okay? I can pay with my own money if you won’t buy anything for me. I don’t care.” “Young lady, if you leave this store-” “What’re you gonna do?” I asked as I walked out, smiling. “Ground me? I don’t care.” She sighed and followed me into the mall’s thrift store. I bought jeans and discarded T-shirts and whatever else I wanted with my own money, until I had hardly any change left. At the checkout, the plump, grinning cashier smiled and asked how our day was going. My mom sighed and apologized for the passive-aggressive argument that had gone down over a shirt with a curse word on it. It was the day of back to school shopping, apparently, because the mall was packed with teenagers, all buying pencils and shoes and crap like that. Girls with perfect braids and ponytails, guys with ironed pants and short-cut hair. The scene was more horrific than the last town I’d lived in, which I thought was impossible. “Haven’t these losers realized it’s nearly the twenty-first century?” I whispered to my mom, as we passed a trio of girls with school uniforms clutched against their chests, giggling. “I think they have,” she whispered back. “I think it’s you who thinks this place is Mars.” I laughed. “This place _is_ fuckin’ Mars. Look at me! I’m a goddamn alien.” “_Please_ don’t swear like that- it’s a _Sunday,_ you know.” Then, she added, “And maybe, it’s _your_ fault that you’re an alien here.” I shrugged. We went on with shopping for school supplies, pencils and textbooks galore. We got home at around six, to James unpacking groceries into the new kitchen cabinets. “How was shopping?” He grinned, ever happily, at us. “Fine,” I replied quickly, immediately heading off to my room with my new clothes, and a couple items of shoplifted makeup. It began to rain as the sun began to set. It seemed to rain almost everyday. Talk about pathetic fallacy…

Six in the morning, the next Monday, I sat up in bed, sullenly wondering the fate that would await me. “Elena?” I heard James call out. “Are you awake?” “Yeah…” I called back, my voice already weary. “Just getting ready.” I pulled on a pair of baggy, torn-up blue jeans, black skull-and-crossbones T-shirt, and a stained gray zip-up  hoodie that used to belong to my dad. I tied up my shoes, brushed out my choppy, self-cut blonde waves, and did my makeup as outrageously as I could, because that’s what my mom hated the most. “Morning.” I slung my bag over my shoulder and sat down at the kitchen table, my walkman in hand. “Toast?” My mom offered me a butter-soggy bit of toast with a side of yellowish orange juice. “No, thanks.” “I like your… makeup.” So, she was being passive-aggressive, first thing in the morning? “Thanks!” I smiled bitterly, smudging my eyeliner the slightest bit more. James shot us both a look, signalling that we had to stop it if either one of us wanted to have a good day. But then, he said, “I’m off to work. Wish me luck!” “Luck!” We both called, then instantly turned back to each other with a glare. My mom’s face fell suddenly. “Can you please put on a different hoodie, Elena?” “Oh.” “Please. _Now_.” “I was thinkin’ it would be good luck to wear this on my first day, though. You know I love this hoodie-” “Take it off, please.” “No, thanks.” Then, to not seem _too_ mean, I added, “I know _you _don’t like it, but _I _do. ‘Cause it’s a hella nice hoodie, even if… You know. Sorry.” She crossed her arms, her eyes burning. “Fine. You should probably go. I know you’re a slow walker… Do you know the route?” “Yeah, thanks.” I stood up, tightening the straps of my backpack. “Bye.” I put an Alice In Chains cassette in my walkman, and rushed out the door, remembering the streets and turns to get to the big, sad brick building. The dewy September morning air hit my skin, and without that cursed hoodie, I would’ve been freezing. Under my breath, I sang along to _Them Bones_, rocking my head along, as I followed the sidewalks, turning left, right, left, right… Before the end of the album, I got to school. Kids poured out of the school bus, jocks leaned against their cars with their cheerleader girlfriends attached at the hip. The parking lot looked like the average scene of any 80’s coming-of-age movie. I mouthed along to _Rooster_, walking into the school like I’d been there a thousand times before. I got a couple looks, but no one seemed to notice me. I don’t know what I was expecting. I found my locker, the bell rang. Everything went smoothly. I sat back in my classes and didn’t focus much on the work, but I didn’t slack off. Noon, _shit_. The dreaded lunch hour. Fifty minutes of hell, cafeteria noise, garbage, stupid plastic tables. I pulled out my bagged lunch, sat down at the first table I saw that wasn’t full, or inhabited by a clique. At this table, two guys in pastel polos sat, discussing something in a low voice. A black-haired girl sat one chair away from them in silence, poking at her food. I ate my sandwich, ignoring them, until another guy sat down across from the black-haired girl, and asked, “Who the hell is _she_?” The girl shrugged. “Dunno. You could, like, ask her. Or something.” She glanced my way. She knew very well I could hear both of them. I stared at the guy, dead in the eyes, and said, “Layne. And you are?” “Jesse…” He looked pensive for a second. “I used to know a guy called Layne. Ain’t it a guy’s name?” “Ain’t Jesse a girl’s name?” I raised my eyebrows, trying not to laugh. “It’s _unisex_.” I rolled my eyes. “Layne’s a nickname. My real name’s Elena.” “Ah, alright.” “Nice to meet you,” the black-haired girl said to me. “I’m Erica.” “Cool. Nice to meet you, too.” These people seemed friendly enough. Kind of bland, but friendly. I didn’t hate them, yet. “D’you guys like music at all?” I asked Jesse and Erica. “I love music.” “You betcha.” Erica smiled. “Big Bob Dylan fan right here.” Jesse shrugged. “I like a lotta stuff. Classic rock. Some newer stuff. I dunno.” “That’s cool, that’s cool…” And, just like that, I had a fifty minute conversation with a couple of strangers. It could’ve been a lot worse, I guess. By three in the afternoon, my first day of school had been what one could call average. I noticed Erica in a couple of my classes, she said hi every time. Polite. Friendly. She didn’t seem too stuck-up, either, and she didn’t seem to be some jock’s girlfriend or a cheerleader or anything.  I walked home, singing along to my music. When I got home, the door was unlocked, and my mom was home, seated on the couch, searching for jobs in the paper.  “How was school, honey?” She asked, without looking up. “It was fine,” I replied blandly. “That’s lovely.” “I think I’m gonna go out. Look around. Do something, I don’t know.” I sighed, my heart sinking a little bit. “Did you meet any new friends?” “Not really.” “Oh, well, okay. See you later. Don’t be late, please…” She must’ve been pretty distracted, since she didn’t enforce my curfew with a shrill yell. I dropped my backpack on my bed, grabbed my purse, and left again, _Pretty On The Inside_ screaming in my ears.  I wandered downtown. I was hoping to find a record shop or something, some kind of place that felt more like home. I found nothing of interest, anywhere. I found a pay phone, slid some quarters in, and dialed Kelly’s number. Her dad answered, “Hello?” “Is Kelly there?” I asked, forcing myself to sound phong and polite. I hated Kelly’s dad- who didn’t? “Sorry, but who’s this?” “Friend of hers. She home yet?” “Not yet. Who is this?” “It’s me, Elena.” He hung up. I was sure anyone else would do the same. My mom would be mortified if she knew I had tried to talk to Kelly, but it didn’t matter. She would be mortified if she knew I had talked to anyone from my old school, though. I decided to make another call. Surprisingly, he answered. “Hey?” “Hey, Speed,” I said. “D’you think you can drive over here?” “_Layne_? What the fuck?” “Yeah. Pleasant Grove. Think you can?” “I dunno. Why? I thought Wendy would lock you up for life! What’s she think about you callin’ me, anyway?” “She don’t know about it- I’m at a pay phone.” I paused, then continued: “I’m bored. There’s no one cool in this fuckin’ place. Do you think you can stop by? Please.” “Is it really lame there? Man, that sucks. How long do ya think the drive is? I might be able to make it.” “Not sure. Maybe an hour…? Give or take a bit. I dunno.” I sighed. “This entire place sucks. I have _no_ friends, and _everyone_ is a loser.” “Okay. Gimme an address, I’ll be there. Promise.” My heartbeat instantly spiked, and I smiled. “Uh, well, you can’t show up at my place… There’s a park downtown…” I glanced over at the big green sign that said, in slender, arching white letters: _Pleasant Grove Community Park_. I continued, “Pleasant Grove Community Park. Can ya meet me right by the gate? It’s got a big green sign, you can’t miss it.” “Right on my way now. You got cash?” “Nah. Sorry.” I smiled in anticipation. “See you later.” “See ya, gorgeous.” He hung up. I walked over to the sign of the park, sat down in the shade of it, and listened to at least two albums before I saw Speed’s old black Chevy pull up, stopping with a screech. I shoved my walkman into my purse and stumbled to my feet. His familiar face, split lip, and droopy left eye made me smile and instantly feel better than I felt in ages. “Layne! Get in here!” He called to me, grinning, as he slid his black wraparound sunglasses down onto his face. I jumped into the passenger seat and he pressed play on the cassette player. His beat-up Descendents cassette began to whir. _Milo Goes To College_ had been our favourite since we were twelve. “Long time no see.” He turned his head to grin at me. “We’ve missed ya.” “I’ve missed you guys. This place fuckin’ sucks!” But I couldn’t help smiling like I had a hanger stuck in my mouth. “Let’s _go_!” We sped off down the street, careening left as he bobbed his head to the beat of the music. “I’m guessing there’s not really any place cool to hang out?” He asked, sizing up downtown Pleasant Grove with a frown. “Not that I could find.” “Jesus Christ!” Speed shrieked, honking at the young couple he’d nearly run over. “The light was _green_!” “Fuckin’ idiots.” I shook my head and laughed. We drove around town for a while, laughing, bobbing our heads to the music. Just like in the good old days. Six o’clock rolled around, and Speed pulled into a Burger King. “Milkshake?” He pulled off his sunglasses and winked. “I’ll pay.” “Sure, yeah. Thanks.” We bought chocolate milkshakes and sat in one of those red booths. A couple guys I’d seen in school were there with their girlfriends, and, when they gave us sideways looks, we stuck out our tongues at them, laughing manically. “Just like the good old days.” I grinned, sipping my milkshake. “Yeah,” Speed agreed. His cell phone rang, and he answered, “Hey?” Then, “No… No, I’m not in town right now, actually… Just outta town right now… Sure, later… Yeah… I’ll call ya in a bit, okay? Bye.” “Who was that?” I asked curiously, glancing at the phone. “My buddy, Peter,” He replied, putting his cell phone back into his jeans pocket. “D’you know him? I dunno if you’ve met him.” “I don’t remember him.” “He’s a cool dude. Maybe you’ll meet him. It depends. Your parents are cool with you staying out late? I dunno, last time I saw you…” “Uh, can I use your phone to call my mom?” I asked, biting my lower lip. Anxiety started up in my mind, but I slammed it shut as Speed passed me his phone. I couldn’t remember what our new house number was, so I dialed James’ cell number. “Hello?” “Hey, James… It’s Elena.” The worry whirred up again, just a little bit. “Is Mom there?” “Yeah, we just ate dinner…” He paused for a moment, and I could hear him talking to my mom. Then: “Where are you?” “I’m at a Burger King right now.” “_Alone_? Who are you with?” “I’m with some new friends of mine,” I lied. “From school… They’re really nice. You’d like them. Is that alright?” He was silent for a moment, but I could hear my mom in the background. He replied, “Yeah, yeah, it’s alright. Can you be back for… _Eleven_, please, Elena? It’s a school night.” “Yeah.” I glanced at Speed, who was absentmindedly drinking his milkshake. “I’ll be home by eleven. See you later.” “Bye,” James said. “And your mom says bye, too. And- hey? It’s great you’ve got some new friends. Stay safe, make good choices… Bye.” “Bye.” I hung up, passed Speed’s cell phone back to him. “Eleven? Seriously?” He chuckled, putting his sunglasses back on as he glanced sideways towards the khaki-wearing guys with their girlfriends, who chewed on their salads. “Yeah…” I frowned, forehead creased. “You gotta understand, I gotta be home at eleven. I gotta follow the rules for a bit, so they trust me a bit. And _then_…” I let my voice trail off, I could tell Speed wasn’t listening and didn’t care, anyway. “Why? If you’re gonna break the rules, just break ‘em _now_. C’mon, I won’t be able to drive all the way _over _here everyday. Why can’t ya, Layne? Why can’t ya just stay out, gorgeous?” “Ah, fuck it.” I smiled sullenly, sighed. “Doesn’t fucking matter.” He slurped his milkshake and grinned at me. “I knew you weren’t ever gonna be no rule-follower.” “How could I be?” I laughed, but it sort of felt forced. “It’s in my goddamn DNA.” “Hey, let’s go.” Speed jumped up, throwing down a cheap tip into the table. “Is there even a liquor store in this hellhole?” We strode back out and got in his truck. I put on the Mother Love Bone cassette that we’d had a hell of a time getting a hold of the previous year, and we were off. We drove around until we found a liquor store, and we parked outside. “Wait here,” Speed told me, grabbing his wallet. “Fake ID ain’t never failed me.” I sat there for ten minutes, fiddling with the strings in my ancient hoodie. I thought about how upset my mom got about my wearing it that morning. She had a reason to- her daughter, wearing her ex-husband’s hoodie… Her daughter, who could very well end up just like her dad? I thought a lot about that as I waited for Speed. I guess my mom was probably worried about that a lot, me becoming like my dad. It was kind of a worrying thought. “Hell yeah, gorgeous!” Speed jumped into the car, tossing a party pack of whatever alcohol into the back seat. “Let’s _go_!” I grinned. “Where’re we headed?” “Back home, of course! You think we can raise hell over there _without_ you? Think of this as a little back to school thing, ya know? Monday night!” We roared down the highway for about forty-five minutes until we got back to my good ol’ home town. Just as suburban as Pleasant Grove, but I knew how to get around there. Speed parked at a gas station and called Peter. “Hey, man, I’m back in town. Where are you? Me and Layne’ll stop by.” Next thing I know, we pulled up outside an apartment building  on the outskirts of town. A gangly dude with long, knotty, hippie-like hair met us in the parking lot. Speed said, “Hey, Peter, man, this is Layne. Layne, Peter.” Peter and I shook hands- an oddly formal greeting, I thought, but whatever. Peter led Speed and I into his apartment, where he lived with his older brother, who wasn’t home. Three other girls, my age and some even younger, were curled up on a couch, passing around a bong. Peter sat at the kitchen counter, where Speed placed down the party pack of vodka ice tea.  Speed dropped his arm around my shoulder and passed me a drink. “Glad to have ya back, gorgeous.” Peter raised his can and cried out, “Here’s to fuckin’ school, eh?” He roared in laughter, and we all drank to that, for some reason. “Here’s to gettin’ wasted on Mondays!” Screamed one of the girls on the couch, who was probably high on something other than pot. Music screamed, the lights got dimmer as the sun went down, and more people showed up in pairs and trios. Rancid was blasting on the stereos. It was their newest album at the time, but I couldn’t recall the name. At some point, I joined the group of girls on the couch and we all smoked- a lot. I learned that one of them was named Shannon and she was only barely thirteen, and her friends were all fifteen, like me. I wondered how the hell a thirteen-year-old had gotten there. Shannon and I giggled together, exhaling plumes of smoke into each other’s faces. She fumbled in her jeans’ pockets until she pulled out a plastic baggie, stuffed full of pills. “I…” She looked confused, disoriented. “My friend works… In a pharmacy.” “What?” I could barely hear her over the music, but I could very well see the bag of pills, despite the fact that I was dangerously far from sober. “Wanna?” This thirteen-year-old popped a couple half-yellow, half-green capsules, smiling with jagged, yellow teeth. “Fuck- _what_? Okay!” I took one. I never found out what it was, but it didn’t matter. It made my body feel lighter- lighter than air. Everything became lighter. Eleven o’clock passed quickly. I didn’t even realize it, because I was doing shots with Speed and Peter and some older girl I didn’t know. I giggled and leaned against the grimy apartment’s wall, my head light. I’d always loved when my head felt light, and nothing really _felt_, you know? “Ay… Gorgeous, you alright?” Speed staggered against the wall beside me. “You lookin’ a bit sick.” “Yeah, yeah, I’m _great_.” I grinned goofily at him. “I missed this shit _so_ much!” “Hell yeah!” He threw his fist in the air, narrowly missing some stumbling drunk girl, who I think I recognized. I leaned my head against him, giggling like a maniac. “What’s so funny, gorgeous?” Speed was giggling, too. It was contagious. “Nothin’,” I coughed out, between laughs. “Nothin’s even funny.” We held each other while still giggling manically together, until we started to cry. What the hell were we crying about? I don’t know. Peter just about crashed into us, his words slurring madly as he asked, “Whada hell’re you cryin’ ‘bout? This’sa _party_!” His eyes were bloodshot and hugely dilated, his body loose and dangerously drunk. Neither of us replied. It didn’t matter. Everyone was too wasted to care, including Speed and I. “Fuck, man, I gotta get home…” I murmured, my voice sticking in my throat. There was vodka spilled down my hoodie, my eyeliner running. “I can’t fuckin’ drive,” replied Speed, looking around the apartment, disoriented. “I can, I can drive. I’m okay to drive…” I wasn’t and I knew it. I wasn’t even _old_ enough to drive. Speed just shook his head, his dark hair falling in front of his eyes, which were partly hidden by askew sunglasses. “Bus,” was the only word he said. “_What_?” The blaring music was too loud. “Take a bus!” “Don’t got no _cash_!” He shoved some cash in my face, almost angrily. “Take a goddamn bus, Layne!” I rubbed my forehead and took the money- I couldn’t be bothered to count it. I stumbled out of the apartment, threw up in the parking lot. I began staggering around in the dark, alone, until I remembered where the bus station was. The whole town seemed deserted as I staggered on, shivering like a madwoman. I was grateful for the lack of anybody, but at the time, I couldn’t tell if the streets were crowded or empty. Luckily, I just caught a late-night bus, and somehow Speed’s money paid for it, not even a dollar short. Thank God for that. I crashed into a seat, clutching my purse tightly. My eyes drifted to the passing lights along the highway, but I had to look away because it was giving me a headache. Stomach acids rose in my throat, burning. I began to fumble with the strings in my hoodie. It was stained with vodka that dropped down the front. My shiny blonde hair was greasy, sticking up and frizzy, my makeup running down my cheeks. I dug for my hand-mirror in my purse to take a look at how shitty I looked. And I really did look like shit. I turned to the nearest woman: a middle-aged, weary-looking Asian lady with a large travelling bag. “What time’s it?” I asked her. Her thin eyes traveled up to the clock, and rain began to patter against the bus windows. “It’s just about two.” She sized me up, then asked, “What’re you doing travelling so late?” “Gotta get home.” “Oh.” Then: “How old are you?” “Why do you gotta know, lady?” I giggled. It sounded funny. I don’t know why. “Because you look pretty young, that’s all. And you look like you just survived a hurricane.” “I’m eighty-three,” I replied, with a small groan. “Listen, do you have a phone I can use?” “No, sorry…” The woman looked away, her mouth creasing in a thin line. I looked down at my alcohol-stinking hoodie. My heart sank. What a sad sight.

The lights were still on inside as I unlocked the door- _click_. I staggered inside, licking my dry, chapped lips. “_Elena_!” The instant shriek of ever-familiar motherly wrath. She came hurdling into the front room, wrapped in her nightgown. “_Where the hell have you _been?” “I…” What could I say? Nothing could make it any worse, at least… “I can _explain_.” “Explain? You can _explain_? Jesus Christ, Elena, you were _drinking_, weren’t you? What else were you doing? How can you _explain_ it? What could you _possibly_ have to say for yourself? We _trusted_ you to hang out with your alleged new school friends until eleven p.m., and you stay out until _three in the morning_, and come home _reeking_ of goddamn alcohol! And _pot_, too! Jesus Christ! What do you have to _say _for yourself?” I looked down, my face slack, blank, pale. What _could_ I say? I didn’t have any excuse. I was drunk and stoned- I couldn’t talk my way out of that crap. “I dunno.” _Why the fuck do you say that?_ “I went _home_. And I went to this party.” “_Home_? You went _home?_” She screamed, flailing her arms up in the air like a flapping chicken, trying to fly. “_This_ is your _home_, Elena! We moved here to start _over_, not for you to go running back to that _place_! On a _Monday_! After your _first_ day of _school_! You have to be at school in _four hours_! You can’t go to school- the _second_ day of school- when you’re _fucking hungover_!” “I know, Mom, believe me, I know I fucked up _bad_, but-” “You are _never_ leaving this house _ever_ again! Do you hear me? _Never_! You are staying home from school tomorrow! You’re grounded _until you’re twenty-fucking-five,_ do you understand me, Elena? Do you understand?” I nodded and rubbed my temples, which were ringing and screaming still. “I’m really sorry, Mom. I _meant_ to come home on time, but…” “I don’t wanna hear your excuses! Go to bed right now, young lady! Right now!” She was beginning to cry at this point, tears of a terrified, livid mother. “Can I shower first, please?” “Yes! Go take a shower!” She exhaled a shaky breath, wiping furiously at her tears, and shuddered her way into the kitchen, where James sat, sullen and exhausted, with a cup of coffee. I saw them embrace, sighing and comforting, as I turned into the bathroom. I stripped down in the bathroom, throwing my dirty, stinking clothing into the hamper, and turned the shower as hot as it could go. I stood under the water and let it sear my skin, and I started to sob. How could I do that to my mom and James? I promised them I’d be better. But I fucked up on _day one_! That was just like me, wasn’t it? I quickly got sick of the shower, my insides feeling curdled, so I got out and dried myself, changing into my pajamas. I stared at myself in the mirror for a moment. _Sick_, I thought, _I’m sick just like my goddamn dad, I am._ I laid down in bed, my wet hair soaking into my pillow. Someone knocked on the door and I prayed it wasn’t someone who was gonna scream. “Come in,” I croaked.  James crept in, flicking on the light. “Are you alright?” “Yeah…” I sat up in bed. “I’m sorry, by the way. I know you’ve got work and stuff tomorrow… I really didn’t mean to worry you guys so much.” He smiled sadly. “If you didn’t want to worry us, maybe you shouldn’t have stayed out until three in the morning on a school night.” “I just missed my old friends. I really didn’t meet anyone new in school. No one likes me…” I sighed, wiped my eyes. “I won’t do it again, okay?” James just nodded. “You know your mom’s really worried about you, right? She really wants you to be okay.” “Yeah, I know…” I paused, thinking about the hoodie. “Does she think I’m gonna end up like my dad?” “She hasn’t told me much about that, but I’m sure she does.” James glanced towards the door, which was still hanging open. “Now, I don’t know a lot about your real dad, but-” “Listen, I don’t really wanna talk about that guy right now. And we both need to sleep… Night, James.” “Yeah, alright. Goodnight.” He turned off the lights, and shut the door behind him.

My mom placed down a bowl of cereal in front of me, silently glowering. I spooned up some milk, tasting it. But I couldn’t stand it and dropped the spoon back into the bowl. “Do we have any Ibuprofen?” “No.” “Tylonel?” “No.” “What about-” “No, whatever it is, we don’t have it.” She sighed, pouring herself some coffee. “Can I have some coffee?” I tried meekly. I knew she’d say no, but I still asked. “No,” she replied with a sleep-deprived scowl. I was about to ask “why?” But I decided against it. It seemed like a pretty bad idea to try to pick a fight, with both of us being exhausted, and me being hungover, and my mom being pissed. Not to mention, James wasn’t there to referee our battle. I poked at my cereal, my saliva tasting like the water at the bottom of a sun-heated trash bag. “I’m not hungry,” I told her. “Can I go back to bed, please?” “If I can’t, you can’t!” I cringed at her raised voice, my temples throbbing. “You can?” My mom sighed. “Go get dressed, now, please.” I didn’t have the energy to disobey her, so I just went and got dressed. Jeans, graphic T-shirt, nothing special. No makeup, even though I looked like utter shit. “Thanks for letting me stay home, by the way.” I figured that might make her happier- gratefulness. “I’m not letting you _go_ to school, Elena. Because I can’t have your teachers see my daughter hungover on the _second_ day of school.” She sat down and took a large sip of her coffee, pursing her lips. “Oh. Sorry.” We sat in silence at the kitchen table. I thought about calling Speed, just to make sure he was alright. But, would my mom even _let_ me make a call? So, I just asked her. Which was a bad idea. “No! You can’t call _a friend_!” She sighed in frustration. “I can’t believe you!” “I just wanna make sure he’s okay, mom. I’ll keep it short, I swear- I don’t even know if he’ll _answer…_” I couldn’t bring myself to raise my voice to her level. I was too tired, anyway. “No, and that’s final. It’s good you want to make sure this guy’s okay, but you are gonna stay _away _from that phone- do you hear me? No phone calls.” I shrugged. “Fine. I don’t care.” I spent the day in my room, with the door open by force, laying around and doing not much. I stared at the posters on my wall. Various Seattle guys with lots of hair stared back at me, unmoving. I had my blinds down over the windows, lights off, so it was dim and cool. My mom was in the living room, searching for a job she was qualified for. At around two in the afternoon, I sat down in the living room, across from her on the couch. “Can I make that call now, please?” She just stared at me, face blank. “Okay, I guess. Keep it short. I can’t care at this point…” “Thanks.” I sauntered over to the phone, dialling Speed’s cell phone number. “Hey?” “Hi, it’s me,” I replied quietly. I didn’t really want my mom listening in, but I knew she would anyway. “Are you alright?” “Oh, Layne. Yeah, I’m fine. Little sick, but fine. What about you? Your parents must be pretty pissed, eh?” “Yeah. _Really_ pissed. I’m grounded for life, pretty much. At least I gotta stay home from school… What about you? What happened after I left?” “Oh, lots. I dunno, though, I can’t really remember. I skipped school, too.” I could hear someone talking in the background, and Speed sighed. “So, I guess I won’t be seeing you for a while?” “No… Not allowed to leave the house. Listen, I gotta keep this short, I just wanted to make sure you’re good?” “Yeah, I’m good. See ya, gorgeous.” “Bye.” I hung up, went back to the living room and sat down again. “So, is this friend of yours alright?” “Yeah. Thanks for letting me call him.” We didn’t really talk the rest of the day.

The next few weeks were a horrible routine of waking up, going to school and never cutting a single class, going home, doing my homework, doing my chores, eating dinner with my parents, and then going to bed early. No calls, no leaving the house, no social life at all. I hadn’t made any friends at school. October rolled around: no fun, no friends, only utter boredom and frustration. I spent hours throwing a bouncy ball at the wall, catching it, throwing it back. I was playing my new Descendents CD; James had got it for me when it came out in September, to cheer me up… It reminded me of Speed. I pretty much just played _Everything Sux_ on repeat, which pissed off my mom. I hurled the little blue ball at my wall, right in between the two windows, and it came hurling back. My face was stuck in a permanent scowl. The music was reminding me too much of my old friends, especially Speed, but I kept it on anyway. My mom had a new job, at this organic foods store, and she wanted me to try and get a job there, too, so I had something to do, but I said no. Lining up cabbages and shit all day long, even for money? Hell no. And my _mom_ worked there. I was knocked out of my thoughts when my mom screamed from the kitchen: “Can you turn it down? I’m _trying_ to cook!” “I just fuckin’ turned it down, Mom!” I screamed back, pelting the innocent bouncy ball as violently as I could. It narrowly missed the window and slapped back into my hands just as violently as it had left them. I could hear her muttering, complaining, to James. She was sick of me hanging around the house, especially on weekends when she didn’t work and wouldn’t let me go out. What can I say? I was insufferable! So insufferable that, apparently, even my own mother hated me. I got bored of my endless ball game, and flung the damned ball into my closet. It never bounced back. I strode out into the kitchen. “Is dinner almost ready?” I asked my mom, who was stirring a pot of soup on the stove. “Yup,” she murmured. “Almost.” I sat down at the table beside James, kicked my feet up onto the table. I rocked back and forth in boredom, running a hang through my tangled hair. I was procrastinating on washing it. “I know you’re bored, Elena, but you gotta do the time.” James folded up his newspaper and set it down on the table. “And take your feet off the table.” I groaned, my feet hitting the floor. I was tired of being lonely, bored, and pissed off. I was especially tired of missing my friends- my _best_ friends, my _only_ friends.  The next morning, as I got ready to leave for school, I got an idea. It wasn’t exactly a new idea, it was actually a recurring one, an idea which I got periodically since I was eleven years old. And it was a bad one. I slunk into my parent’s bedroom, grabbed forty bucks from James’ wallet, and all the cash in my mom’s, which was only about fifteen dollars. He was in the shower, and my mom was making coffee. I slid the money into my bra, and stuffed cassettes and clothing into my backpack rather than textbooks. “Bye,” I called to my mom as I hastily put on my shoes. “I’m going to school.” “Already?” I heard her call from the kitchen. “Alright, see you later. Remember, no leaving the house after school!” “I know!” I slammed the door shut behind me and began to walk to the bus station. I know, it wasn’t a very well thought out plan, but it was a plan nonetheless. Actually, no, I had no plan. I was acting solely on impulse. The next thing I knew, I was on a south-bound bus with Screaming Trees playing on my walkman, Mark Lanegan’s voice keeping fearful anxiety from raising my heart rate. I stared out the window, Pleasant Grove already long gone. I’d pulled this card on my parents before, but I always went back after a few hours, one day at most. I was glad that I was wearing my dad’s old, stained hoodie on that day. It was raining again. I don’t know _why_ I left, but I was bored. That’s probably why, actually. I rode that bus until around two-thirty in the afternoon, and I ended up in some town, with a huge beach, right near the border to the States. The very first thing I did was find a pay phone, and the very first person I called was Speed. He was the most likely to answer, since he had a cell phone, anyway. “Hey?” “Speed, guess where I am!” I just about squealed with excitement. “Layne, gorgeous? Where are ya?” “I don’t even fuckin’ _know_.” I giggled, drunk on freedom. “I ran away. I went on some bus. I’m south, right near the States!” “Wait, _what_?” I heard him swear, almost inaudibly, under his breath. “Yeah! Isn’t that cool?” “Yeah, I guess so.” He paused, then: “What the hell are you gonna _do_ there?” I thought about it for a second. “I dunno. I’ll find something to do.” “What about money?” “Jesus, what are you, my mom?” I laughed. “I’ve got _money_. I mean, not enough, but I’ve got _money_…_ _I’ll be fine, Speed- unless you wanna drive down here?” “What?” He paused for a long moment, and then asked, “Well, how long’s the drive?” “I don’t fuckin’ know. Like, seven hours or something crazy like that. I don’t even know.” “What’s the name of the damn place? I’ll come on down tomorrow, if I can.” “Really?” I grinned, looking around wildly for a sign, a map, anything to tell me the name of the place. I asked a stranger what the name of the town was; his reply was, “Sovernon.” So, that’s what I told Speed. “Alright.” I could hear him writing it down. “See you on Friday. Call me, okay, on Friday?” “Of course.” “See ya.” He hung up. I still felt drunk on my freedom, and wandered around Sovernon, in the cool, autumn sunshine that seemed so rare in Pleasant Grove- ironically enough. I carefully examined every flyer on every bulletin board, searching for interesting-looking people to talk to. Flyers advertised all sorts of things: yard sales, fire wood, newspapers, et cetera. Absolutely nothing of interest, which disappointed me. Until, as I walked past a bar, I spotted the type of advertisement that _did_ interest me. On a plain white sheet of paper, in large, all lower-case, typed black text: _hardcore underground, october 10-13, doors open at 9, music at 9:30~ bands include: the paranoids, sleze, and eye twitch. _Then, below that, an address and a footnote that read: _the more the merrier._ __ I pulled my backpack off my shoulders and dug for a pen, and, when I found one, I scrawled the address down on my hand. _Today is the tenth,_ I thought to myself, _I wonder why they are starting on a Thursday?_ __ Then, my stomach grumbled; I hadn’t eaten since breakfast that morning, and it was probably nearly four in the afternoon. It would probably be dark in about an hour, so I had to get moving. I ambled around the slowly darkening streets, backpack making my shoulders ache. I stopped in a gas station to clean up a bit in the bathroom, because, after the seven-hour long bus drive, I frankly stunk. I shoplifted some gum and sat on the sidewalk outside the gas station, chewing hungrily. Eventually, as it got darker and colder, I fled to one of those 24/7 fast food places, and bought the cheapest burger on the menu, as I couldn’t waste a dollar. I ate my burger slowly, hanging around for as long as possible. The population of that fast food place was full of people who wanted to hang around as long as possible. Men with huge, tangled beards in grimy jackets and wet toques; women in fishnets and high-cut dresses with heavy raincoats over top; small, impoverished families gnawing on shared french fries, shivering from too-thin clothing and, seemingly, too-thin skin. I pulled my hood up over my head, just sitting there, alone, until the little, happy yellow clock on the wall told me that it was just about nine. I asked the cashier if she knew where the place was, and she said she didn’t know for sure, but directed me downtown anyway. I wandered around in the dark, chilly downtown of Sovernon, wandering to the very edges of downtown, until I found it: a quite spacious, two-story, lit-up building on the side of the road, with a large black-painted sign with white spray-paint stating: _Hardcore Underground Records + Bar + Live Music._ The small parking lot was already packed, groups of people walking inside. It was definitely a scene to behold- beautiful, fun, and something absolutely impossible in Pleasant Grove. I stashed my backpack in a shrub near the parking lot- there wasn’t much of value in it, besides a couple cassettes that I adored, but it didn’t matter. Then, I strode on into the place. People, all older than me, were drinking, smoking, playing pool, hanging out and waiting for the band to start. There was a bar, but I spotted lots of people who could be seventeen at most. The first band was already on a small stage at the back of the room, setting up their stuff and whatnot. This place was _new_. This place was _exciting._ I _liked_ this place.

Not knowing where to go, I ambled over to lurk near the stage, eyeing the band members of the band that I guessed was The Paranoids. Lots of hair, I noticed, and lots of swearing. I got kind of distracted, absentminded, and was jerked out of my thoughts when a skinny Indian girl jumped on stage and started screaming about the band and how we’d all better have a good time. Everyone started clapping and screaming wildly when she jumped back off the stage, and The Paranoids began to play a cover of Aerosmith’s _Dude Looks Like A Lady_. I jumped around and clapped with the masses of people around me, grinning manically, as the singer belted out another chorus of, “Dude looks like a lady, dude looks like a lady, dude looks like a lady…” The song finished with a massive _bang_ of the drums, and the crowd went insane. I did, too: screaming and clapping and whistling, until the singer- a young white guy with Rapunzel-like hair down to his waist- leaned into the microphone and started saying, “This’s an original song, it’s about something stupid. It’s called _Stoned_.” And then, the screaming began, the ear-damaging guitar riffs, pounding bass, and crashing drums. I absolutely fucking loved it. By the time The Paranoids had finished their set, sweaty and smirking, my hands were sore and red from clapping, my hair frizzy and my body claustrophobic- but like in a good way. As the second band, Sleze, began to get up on stage, I, already drunk on the exhilaration, headed over to the bar, and plopped onto a peeling, yellow-leather seat. The Indian girl was bartending, her face flushed. I thought she was younger than nineteen, maybe seventeen or even sixteen, but I guess she worked there. “Hey,” I said to her, leaning against the bar. “These bands are pretty good, huh?” “Yeah, yeah, they’re awesome.” She began clumsily wiping a lipstick-stained glass. “You know, me and the drummer of The Paranoids are pretty tight. He’s neat, dig?” I nodded along, and laughed. “Yeah, drummers, am I right?” “Yeah, yeah! Now, you want something to drink?” “Sure, yeah, I’ll take whatever. Vodka-whatever.” Jesus, it wasn’t usually this easy. I didn’t even have any ID- real _or_ fake- on me. “You’re nineteen, yeah?” She asked me, pouring alcohol into a glass. “You look kinda young.” “Yeah, I’m nineteen,” I lied. It was the most unbelievable lie. I was _fifteen_, and the highest I could ever pass for would be seventeen, at most. “Good, okay.” She didn’t ask for ID, nothing, she just handed over the alcohol. Then, she introduced herself, “I’m Ana.” I took a sip of my vodka. “I’m Layne. How much?” “How much what? Oh, it’s on the house, Layne! What a great name! Like Staley- oh, you’re so lucky!” She laughed, glancing over at the stage, where the members of Sleze seemed to be picking a fight. “Oh, nah, my _real_ name is Elena… Ain’t nothing lucky about being called fucking _Elena_.” I exhaled, in relief, and smiled. “You new here, or I just never met you before now?” Ana paused. “You must be new. I know almost everyone.” “Yeah.” I coughed out some nervous laughter. “I’m new. Kinda homeless.” “Fuck! That sucks. I was homeless for a while and, tip? Don’t trust the crack heads. Or the meth heads. Don’t trust junkies in general.” Her mouth contracted into a grim line. “I learned that one the hard way.” “Jesus, okay, thanks. I didn’t plan on trusting any meth heads… But thanks.” “You dig musicians?” Ana asked as she passed a beer to another customer. “Sure, yeah,” I replied. “I love music.” “I love musicians.” She giggled, then glanced over at the stage again. “The band’s ready now, I need to go announce them and all…” And she rushed off, then, her voice projected from the microphone: “Give it up for Sleze, Sovernon’s very own rock ‘n’ roll quintet!” The crowd roared with applause, then Ana came running back to the bar as the band started playing in a way that felt reminiscent of Seattle’s one-album band, _Mother Love Bone_. Everyone crowded over to the stage again, and the bar was left with only me and a couple other people, finishing their drinks. Ana cried over the noise, “You should try and talk to the guys after the show’s all done! You’re neat- I’ll talk you up, dig?” “_Really_?” My heart beat spiked with excitement, my head light and warm, my lips flying into a manic smile. “Fuck yeah, Ana, fuck yeah!” “Really! Yes!” She giggled, face flushed. Then, she noticed I was pretty much done my drink, and offered, “Another drink? You gotta pay this time, though.” “Sure, yeah.” I downed the rest of my drink, pulled out some of the cash still discreetly in my bra. “How much?” “Five bucks?” I handed her five bucks, in return she handed me the drink. I stuffed the rest of the cash back into my bra and no one batted an eye. I sipped my drink. Ana was gleefully hopping around to the music behind the bar, as the singer of Sleze sang in a style that one can only attribute to the late Andrew Wood. “This place is always a party, man, it’s awesome.” “It is,” I agreed, bobbing my head to the music. “It’s wonderful. With my parents, I lived in all these suburban shitholes, and even the _best_ parties were nothin’ compared to _this_ place.” “Ah, fuck! Parents all suck, don’t they?” She rolled her dark brown, almost black, eyes and grinned at me. “_Mine_ won’t get off my back for just working here.” “Fuck ‘em! Fuck ‘em if they don’t want you working here. Here’s awesome!” I sat at the bar and drank, talking to Ana and listening to the music, until Sleze finished their set and Eye Twitch, an all-female trio, started to play. Ana told me, “Okay, Layne, wanna go see the guys? They’re upstairs.” Then, she side-eyed the band on stage, and added, “Carrie’s a bitch.” I followed Ana back around the stage, past a few washrooms, and up a creaking, black staircase. At the top of the stairs, there was a small, carpeted landing before a door, and Ana told me to wait there a minute, as she walked into whatever room lay beyond the door. I leaned against the wall, fiddling with the strings in my dad’s old hoodie, for a couple minutes, until Ana came back out, grinning with all her teeth. “Come on in!” Beyond that door was what seemed like a communal living room, with about ten small rooms leading off of a dim hallway, with a petite metal balcony that also served as a fire escape. The two bands, The Paranoids and Sleze, plus a few friends and girlfriends, were sprawled out on some couches, smoking and drinking. “This’s Layne,” Ana introduced me, then flopped down on a low, black leather couch, beside the drummer of The Paranoids. Everyone mumbled their greetings, and Ana motioned for me to sit down beside her, on the floor, so that’s what I did. I intently listened to their conversation until the singer of The Paranoids- I only really recognized him for his Rapunzelish hair- broke in, “Hey, Layne, you play anything?” I shrugged, replying, “Not really. I mean, I played trumpet in middle school, if that counts.” I chuckled with the memory of that stupid trumpet. “My name’s Wyatt. Nice to meet you.” “Nice to meet you, too. And,” I added, “I like your hair.” Wyatt’s face broke out into a grin, his circular sunglasses askew on his nose. “Ah, you wouldn’t believe how many times I get that compliment! Thanks, though.” Then, “Cigarette?” “Oh, no, thanks. I don’t smoke…” “I’ll have to get you a drink, then.” He offered me a red solo cup, sloshing with some type of alcohol. “Thanks.” I gratefully gulped the drink down, almost giddy. I heard the drummer laughing, and he howled, “_Wyatt_! Jesus Christ!” He dropped his arm around Ana’s shoulders and cried out with wild-sounding laughter. “Fuck _off_, Jack!” Ana giggled, then leaned over and got herself another drink. “Baby, if you give Wyatt a hard time again, someone’s gonna kick your _ass_.” She couldn’t stop giggling, all of a sudden. One of the guys from Sleze- I believe the guitarist- jumped up, said, “I’m gonna try and score, I think Ray’s here somewhere,” and promptly left. “Ol’ Sky, always tryna score!” Another Sleze guy sighed. “I hope he ain’t too deep in the shit, man.” Everyone fell awkwardly silent for a moment. Almost solemn. Until The Paranoid’s guitarist, a curly-haired guy called Rob, murmured, “I think he is.” “That shit fucks you up, man,” Wyatt added, nodding to himself. “Oh, man! Shut the fuck up, you damn hypocrite!” Jack began to howl again. “Hey! I quit that shit, you know it.” “To be fair,” added the Sleze guy, “You _did_, but everyone _knows_ that you and Sky are drug buddies.” “Okay, _true_, but…” Wyatt sighed, pushing his sunglasses back up his nose. “C’mon, you know I want him to get clean just as much as all the rest of you. So don’t call me a fucking hypocrite.” The topic quickly shifted and no one mentioned that quick, tense conversation again, although I thought about it pensively. Hours passed drunkenly, and by about three or four in the morning, most people were tired, heading off to their respective rooms to pass out on their beds. Soon after, it was only me, Ana, Jack, Wyatt, and another girl, who hadn’t really engaged in the conversation much and was looking sickly. For some strange, stoned reason, we were discussing how to _spell_ letters, with _other_ letters, which was getting confusing and tiresome. Then, suddenly, Ana exclaimed, “Hey, Kat, wanna go see if you can find Sky and Ray?” Kat, the sickly-looking girl, shuddered to her feet. “Alright. I got an idea where they might be.” She swayed out the door. Ana giggled and made eye contact with me, clicking her tongue loudly. At this point, I was sitting on the couch across from her, and, for some reason, the guys didn’t notice this weird, female sign language. I didn’t particularly understand it at the time, to be fair. Mad Season was playing- because earlier we had been talking about Mark Lanegan and Layne Staley- at a low volume. Ana was looking like she was wanting to tell me something, and I was horribly confused. When she whispered something to Jack, and they disappeared into his room, I got the message. Better late than never, I guess. Wyatt glanced at me, tossing his sunglasses onto the table. “Cigarette?” “No, thanks. I don’t smoke.” “Wanna go hang out in there?” He nodded towards a door, the door to his room, I guessed. “If you want.” What was I supposed to say? I was drunk and high again. “Sure, yeah.”

I stared at the crumbly, stucco ceiling, laying on my back on the mattress, which sat, desolate, on the floor. My mind was numb, yet racing, and my heartbeat was flying, bipolar, all over the place. I was fiddling violently with the frayed edge of the thin blanket that fell over me. It was probably about eight in the morning, and the sun had just risen, shining cool rays of light into the dusty, small room. I couldn’t sleep- how could I? “Hey, Wyatt,” I whispered, just loud enough. “Hey, Wyatt?” “Hm…?” He rolled over to look at me. “What’s up?” I forgot what I was going to say, for a moment, until I hastily spoke. “I can’t sleep. Do you got something that can help me sleep?” “Oh. Sure.” He climbed up off the mattress and began rummaging in one of the drawers in his desk. When he climbed back under the blanket, he dropped a few round blue pills into my open palms. “Valium all good?” “Yeah, thanks.” I swallowed the Valium dry. When I woke up that afternoon, I still felt tired. And hungry, and sore in all the wrong places. Wyatt wasn’t there when I woke up, either, so I lay motionless for a while, eyes fixated on the ceiling.  I wondered if maybe I should just call my mom or James, but then I realized I had to call Speed, because he would be coming today, if he could make it. And then I began to wonder what Speed would think of everything that had happened. With me and Wyatt, I mean. I didn’t think he’d be exactly overjoyed. But also, he didn’t exactly have to know. Sure, we were great friends, but why should he have to know anything very private about my love life? So I decided I wouldn’t tell him, and got out of bed, running my hands through my messy, oily hair and putting on my missing items of clothing. I quietly walked out into the living room, where Sky and a guy who I assumed was Ray were sleeping on the couches. Ray woke up with a start when I shut the door, and asked, “Who’s you?” “I’m Layne. Do you know where Wyatt is? Or Ana?” “Oh. No. I think Ana’s downstairs or something.” He paused, scratching his head. “I’m Ray. You new here?” “Yeah.” I waved at him as I headed for the door to walk downstairs. Ana was sitting at the bar, her head down on the table, and I thought for a moment that she was asleep, but she jumped up when she saw me. “Layne! Layne! Layne!” For someone who was very obviously hungover, she seemed in great spirits. “What’s up?” I sat down beside her on one of the ancient bar stools. She was giggling again. “Wasn’t last night _fun. _Musicians are neat, aren’t they? Aren’t they?” “What? Sure, yeah.” I began rubbing my temples, stomach aching. “Got a phone I can borrow for a sec?” Ana pointed to a phone behind the counter. “Tonight’s gonna be fun, too. Are you staying?” “Yeah, I mean, I’ve got nowhere else to be.” I dialed Speed’s number, he picked up instantly. “Hey?” “Hey, it’s me. Sorry for calling kinda late… Are you coming?” “Layne? It’s like two o’clock. School just fuckin’ got out!” He sighed. “Gimme an address?” I told him the address for the place, and he said, “I’ll be there by ten, maybe ten-thirty, okay?” “Okay. See you.” “See ya, gorgeous.” “Oh, who’s that?” Asked Ana, still grinning, as I sat down beside her again. “My friend, Speed. He’s cool. He’s on his way now, so he’ll be here by the time the bands are playing,” I explained, untangling a knot in the back of my hair. “Cool.” “Hey, I gotta get my bag…” I muttered, mostly to myself. “I left it outside. In a bush. You know?” “Oh, sure. I get that.” Ana’s head was back down on the table, sleepily. I rushed outside to find my backpack, luckily it hadn’t been stolen. Back inside, I changed my clothes and freshened up in the bathroom. Surprisingly, I didn’t look too bad, after I washed my face and extensively did my makeup so that I’d look older- the scary thing was that everyone was probably at least four years older than me, and had no clue that I was at least four years younger than all of them. When I went back to the bar, Ana was snoring. I kicked her leg, saying, “Hey, wake up.” “Oh, what? Sorry. I’m kinda tired.” “Have you seen Wyatt?” “What, you haven’t seen him? I’d’ve thought you’d been seeing a lot of him.” That made her giggle again. “He was gone when I woke up.” I shrugged, heart sinking a little. “I haven’t seen him since.” “Well, I have no idea where he is.” Ana paused, then changed the topic. “Wanna hang out with me and Kat today? You’re pretty neat, you know?” I shrugged again. “I don’t have any plans, I don’t have anywhere to be. Sure.” “Great! I don’t suppose you got much money, do you?” “No, not really.” I wasn’t really feeling Ana’s excitement. In fact, I was feeling a little sick, to be honest. “Oh, that’s fine… You can wear some of my clothes. We look about the same size.” She glanced at my clothes: graphic T-shirt, baggy jeans, and my dad’s hoodie. “What’s wrong with _my_ clothes?” That made me kind of defensive. “Nothing! They’re great! They just don’t suit the activities, if you know what I mean…” Then, she jumped up, grabbed my hand, and pulled me upstairs to her room, which was much better decorated than Wyatt’s. Ana threw a bikini-like crop-top at me, pretty much the same as the one she was wearing, and then a dark brown flannel shirt. “There you go! You’ll look so pretty!” She giggled again in her high-pitched voice. “Try them on?” Silently, I put on the clothes. I did look good, but I felt weirdly bad about discarding my hoodie, which was shoved back down in my bag, to be left in Ana’s room. Ana jumped out into the living room, yelling at Sky and Ray: “Can you guys get off your asses for once? Where are the rest of the guys? Where the hell is Kat?” Sky mumbled, “Kat’s still sleepin’ and the guys are out doing something, I don’t fuckin’ know what!” “Where the hell is Kat sleeping?” She asked, crossing her arms with an impatient sigh. “Did she go back to her _parent’s_ house?” “Nah. She’s sleepin’ in some guy’s room- I don’t fuckin’ know, man!” Sky pulled a pillow over his face and added, his voice muffled, “Can you get off my back for once? You ain’t my fuckin’ _mom_.” “Shut the fuck up!” Ana screamed at him, her face going almost red. “Just tell me where Kat is, will you?” “I already told you!” He yelled into the pillow. “I don’t fuckin’ _know_.” “Ray?” Ana turned to face him, but he looked like he was nodding off. “Ray, where the hell is Kat?” Ray mumbled something incoherent and dozed off, and then one of the doors swung open and, just like that, Kat walked out, half-naked, rubbing her eyes. “Oh my God,” she muttered, brushing through her hair with one hand. “What happened?” “Oh,” Ana said, awkward. “We were looking for you.” “Why?” “We’re gonna hang out with Layne. Do you wanna?” She paused for a second, and then: “Wait, who’s room is that? I thought you went back to your parent’s house, didn’t you? I don’t remember what the fuck happened last night, Kat-” “No, no, chill, Ana, chill, man, okay?” Kat mumbled, coughing slightly. “Let me get dressed.” She grabbed her clothing from whoever’s room that was, and changed in the bathroom. Twenty minutes later, Ana was jumping up and down, saying some nonsense about something, I don’t know. When Kat was finally ready, she dragged us along the streets of downtown Sovernon, giggling about one thing or another. “Does _anyone_ have cash?” She sighed. “I’m totally broke.” I shrugged. “Same here.” “I could probably ask my mom for some, but I don’t know if she’d give me any,” Kat replied, tying her short auburn hair into a ponytail. “It depends.” “If you want to, then do you think we could? I mean, it’s _your_ mom’s money, and _your_ mom, but we’re all kinda broke here, man!” She didn’t say anything for a long moment, and then: “Nah, sorry. My mom’s already on my case for not being worth shit on my own. Sorry.” Ana shrugged. “Eh, it doesn’t matter.” “What’re we gonna do, anyway?” I asked, nervously fiddling with the ends of Ana’s flannel that she’d lent me. “I dunno. But I am _starved_.” Ana rubbed her stomach, and I noticed that she had a belly button ring. “We gotta get something to eat.” My stomach rumbled at the thought of food. “Yeah,” I agreed. Eventually, we all got hungry and stopped at a bustling diner, where we dined ‘n’ dashed to avoid admitting that we had no money at the moment. Kat looked sicker than before, and I still felt kind of disgruntled, while Ana, hyperactive, dragged us along until we found Wyatt, Jack, Rob, and their bassist- whose name I wasn’t sure of- in the parking lot of a seven-eleven, waiting for somebody. “Hey, speak of the devil!” Jack said when we walked up, dropping his arm around Ana’s shoulders. Wyatt nodded at me, with a smile, in greeting, his circular sunglasses obscuring his eyes. I nodded back, forcing a smile to be friendly, although I didn’t feel much like smiling. “Who are you guys waiting for?” Ana asked, putting her arm around Jack’s waist. “Shane’s gonna pick us up,” replied Rob, sticking his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “We gotta go to this meeting thing with this guy- we might even get on this fuckin’ record label if it all goes well.” “Wait, what?” Ana gasped, her face exploding into a grin. “Seriously? Like, you guys can make an _album_? A _label_? That’s fucking great!” Jack kissed her and then, after a long minute, said softly, “That’s right.” “That’s cool as hell,” I added, this time with a genuine smile. “Yeah, yeah, _if_ we can be on fuckin’ time if Shane actually _gets_ here!” The bassist muttered, sighing angrily. “If we’re late because of him, I swear to God…” “Hey, Johnny, man, chill the fuck out, willya?” Wyatt snapped at him. “We’re not gonna be late, okay?” “Well, we’re gonna be, if Shane doesn’t-” “Hey, man, look, I can see his car right now- right over there.” Rob pointed to a petite grey car that careened uneasily into a parking lot. I could already hear the blasting 1980’s Aerosmith. As the car skidded to a halt, the driver’s window rolled down and a redheaded guy stuck his head out, exclaiming, “Get the fuck in!” The guys began to file into the car. Jack kissed Ana on the cheek, whispering something, while Wyatt leaned in to kiss me and- what the hell could I do? Suddenly, his lips were on mine and then he said, casually, “See you later,” as he got into Shane’s car. Ana giggled. “You’re red as a cherry, Jesus Christ.” That just made me blush more, embarrassment flooding my brain. “I haven’t kissed a lotta people before, if I’m being honest,” I murmured, pursing my lips. “_Ooh_!” Ana leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. “How many, exactly?” I tried to think over the amount of guys at parties I’d kissed- most of the time I was too drunk or too high to remember. I’d only ever had one boyfriend, a guy who asked me out in ninth grade and we’d go to the movies every Friday for about three months- mostly just to make out in the dark, not because either of us were film freaks or anything. So, I shrugged. “I don’t know. Usually when I’m kissing someone, I’m pretty drunk…” Then, because why the hell not, I added, “I’ve only ever had one real boyfriend before, you know.” “What?” Kat gasped, genuinely shocked. “Really?” I nodded, my cheeks still flushed. “Yup.” “Aw, it’s okay, Layne…” Ana pouted her lips, almost dramatically. Almost _sarcastically_. “We’ve all been there, haven’t we?” “Yeah, when we was fuckin’ _fifteen_,” laughed Kat. “Oh, shut the fuck up!” I snapped, crossing my arms. I was terrified they’d realize that I was a fucking _child_, and… Then what? “Yeah, yeah, you’re right…” Ana inhaled slowly, shaking her head slightly. “Sorry, I’m sorry, we didn’t mean to make fun of you! You’re neat, Layne, you’re cool.” I smiled with a sigh of relief. “Thanks, Ana…” “It’s not even five o’clock yet, oh my God,” Kat suddenly said, as she spotted a clock on the wall of the seven-eleven. “We’ve got _hours_ to waste!”

I gaped at the lamp. It looked like it was glowing… Dust floating, visible, through the rays of magical, man-made sunshine. Was it _meant_ to glow like that? And I gaped at all the colours of this van: rich, leprechaun green, sea-and-sky sapphire blue, blood-like, lava red, bold, sunshine yellow. It was like a magnified geometry class for the opposite of colour blind people. It was like the world was under a microscope and everything was a thousand times brighter and larger. Hours passed like seconds and then: “Layne! Layne? Hey, man, we’re _here_.” “Where?” I asked, blinking rapidly. “Where are we?” “_Here_!” Kat shoved me out into the cold nighttime air of Hardcore Underground’s parking lot. A shiver hit my spine, my shoulders tensed. I sneezed. “Hey, man, you good?” Ana’s side knocked into mine, and she was giggling like a madwoman again. “Layne?” “I’m great, yeah!” I giggled in reply to hers, shaking slightly. Ana crashed behind the bar, pouring drinks left and right, uncontrollable, confused. Kat disappeared as soon as we got inside, while I was overstimulated, people pushing me around as they danced, clapping and whistling, at Eye Twitch, who were playing covers of some Veruca Salt song on stage. Wyatt’s sunglasses kept falling down my face, as elbows and hips knocked into me every half a second. I could barely breathe, barely see over the crashing lights and wild sounds that I could see, flying through the air, everywhere. _Whack!_ And then, my little red party cup went falling, slow-motion, through the air, vodka sloshing down my shirt- no, I was wearing the shirt that Ana had lent me, it was _Ana’s_ shirt. And where was that flannel I’d been wearing? It didn’t matter; it was a thousand degrees in there, anyway. I swayed to the music, my bare arms waving in the air, as Carrie belted out some _Bruise Violet_ from the platform, as the raving lights magnified every feature. “Liar! Liar! _Liar_!” She shrieked, and people around me shrieked along. My feet murmured about how sore they were, but my body was numbed with acid and alcohol. I felt nothing and everything all at once- sweltering and frozen, fixed together and broken, claustrophobic and alone. Someone crashed into my side, grabbed my arm, and screamed over the music: “Layne? Layne? Layne, gorgeous?” I rolled my eyes upwards to look, and there he was, Speed, with his wraparound sunglasses and dark hair. “Layne!” He yelled, his voice barely audible over the blaring music. “Hey, look, it’s Speed!” I burst out into laughter, my words slurring slightly. “You made it, you _made_ it!” “C’mon, let’s go to the bar, okay, gorgeous?” He gripped my arm and dragged me out of the partying horde, sat me down on the only open stool at the bar. “Hey, Layne!” Ana grinned, went in for a high-five and ended up hitting me in the face. We laughed it off, and then, she asked, “Is this your friend who you said was coming? Whatshisname, your friend?” “Oh, this’s Speed,” I told her, but I couldn’t stop staring at her long, loose braids, which looked like two Medusa’s snakes. “Who’s this?” Speed asked, suspicion in his voice. “My friend, Ana!” I started up in laughter, which ended in a fit of coughing. “We’re friends, right, Ana, we’re _friends_? _Fr-r-r-e-e-nds-s-s-s_…” “You betcha! You’re neat, man! You’re neat!” “I’s spilt a drink on your top,” I muttered, licking my chapped lips. “Sorry.” Ana looked down at her shirt. “No, you’re good, man, you’re good.” “No, _no_, on _this_’s shirt, I split a drink.” “Oh, whatever.” We laughed it off again. I snorted in my fit of giggles, and Speed whispered to me, “You aren’t _just_ drunk, are you? Layne?” “_What_!” I replied, loudly, louder than I should’ve been. “No, man, I’m on acid!” “Wait, what?”  “Hey, Ana, can I get a drink?” Ana shoved another red cup in my hand, and I downed in almost just as quickly. Speed whispered in my ear again: “She didn’t even ask for ID?” “What? No, man, I’m _nineteen_!” Some time after that, the screaming music and flashing lights became less intense, less violent and _there_, and life felt like it was draining out of me. I lurched into the bathroom, coughing up bile, vomiting up the alcohol I shouldn’t’ve drank. My throat burned, my stomach empty and curdled. A huge laugh escaped my mouth, all of a sudden, as my hand groped for the flusher, as the toilet lid slammed shut. I was seizing with sickly laughter, my hands shaking. Things started to make less sense.

I blinked my eyes awake, the evil taste of unbrushed teeth and too-much vodka stuck in my mouth. I licked my too-dry lips and pulled myself to sit up. Apparently, I’d fallen asleep on one of the couches upstairs, face burrowed in a pillow with my legs over one of the armrests. “Finally, you’re awake.” I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and looked up- Wyatt was sitting beside me, leather-and-denim clad with his long hair tied in a ponytail. “Oh. That time is it?” I asked quietly, untangling the extensive knots in my hair. “Nearly three.” “In the _afternoon_? Jesus Christ…” I sighed. Wyatt laughed, and my temples throbbed at the loud noise of it. “What the hell were you _on_ last night? Did you… Black out, or something?” “Well, I dunno, what happened?” I paused. “Um, I remember doing acid in someone’s van, with Ana and Kat… And drinking, _lots_… And Speed was here…” “Wait, who’s _Speed_?” “Oh, he’s a friend of mine. Is he still here? He lives, like, eight hours away… I dunno. I’ll call him later, I guess, if I don’t find him…” I rubbed my sweat-encrusted face, groaning. “Oh my _God_… I am _so_ fucking hungover.” He carefully put his arm around my waist, dragging my body against his. My head lolled uselessly on his shoulder. “Hey, how’d that meeting thing go? Yesterday? Was it good?” I asked softly, the memory suddenly popping back into my head. “What? Oh, yeah, it went kinda well. I dunno, it went pretty okay.” By seven in the evening, the sun had set, and I’d done nothing but sit around, watch TV, and smoke pot with Wyatt, Sky, Rob, and Kat. We were watching _Alice In Chains Unplugged_, passing around a bong, as a pink-haired Layne Staley sang _Nutshell_ on TV. My feet twitched- I could feel every molecule in my feet. That’s how stoned I was. And I said, blandly, as I watched the TV vacantly, “You know what? I think I’m gonna cry.” “_What_?” Everyone turned to look at me. “It’s just… This song is so _sad_,” I sniffed, rubbing my nose. “It makes me want to cry. The lyrics are… _Sad_. That’s all.” “Oh. Yeah,” Sky murmured in reply. “I guess it is a pretty sad song.” And, just like that, _Nutshell_ ended, and the next song, _Brother_, began to play. “Oh,” I whispered, mostly to myself. My head throbbed still, and my eyelids were heavy, my stomach hungry. By the time _Sludge Factory_ came on, we were all singing along, too stoned to care about if we got the words right or not, too stoned to care that the pitch was all off, too stoned to care about anything in general. _“Call me up, congratulations ain’t the real why, there’s no pressure besides brilliance, let’s say by day nine, corporate ignorance lets me control time, by the way, by the way…”_ __ We all crumpled into a shared fit of laughter, and someone suggested we go get food, which caused a frenzied search for money. Eventually, we got together enough cash and the five of us swayed down the street to the nearest McDonald’s, where we ate heavenly burgers and ambrosia milkshakes. “Oh, shit!” Rob suddenly burst out, jumping to his feet with a mouth full of burger. “Wyatt, man, we gotta _go_!” “Wait, what, where? We got nowhere to be, do we?” Wyatt questioned, confused. “No, man! Serious! We gotta find Jack and John, you know, we gotta _play_ or else Ana’s gonna beat our asses, you know it!” Suddenly, Rob was feverishly pacing around the McDonald’s. He kept repeating, under his breath, “You know it!” “Shit, what time is it?” Wyatt didn’t seem to care much. He was just as high as the rest of us, anyway. “Is it ten _already_?” “No! We gotta be _ready_ at nine-thirty tonight- it’s _Saturday_, man! Don’t ya know? We _opened_ on _Thursday_ so we _open_ on _Saturday_! It’s nine-_fifteen_, man, we got _fifteen_ minutes-” “Hey, calm the fuck down, Robbie.” Sky rolled his eyes at them. “You guys are stoned as shit anyway. Can’t fuckin’ play for shit, I bet.” “What? No, man!” Exclaimed Rob, pacing still. “We gotta _go_!” “Ana’s chill,” Kat added, “She won’t kill ya, she’ll just get someone else to open.” “Ana? _Chill_?” Rob scoffed, anxiously wringing his hands, bringing to mind a middle-aged mother worrying about where her children are at ten p.m. “Do you even _know_ Ana? She’ll kill us, she’ll kill us!” “We’ll go over in a bit, okay?” Wyatt muttered with a loud sigh, wearily resting his head on top of mine. “Yeah, man, calm the fuck down,” Sky added, his voice seething, while his gaunt, sickly face remained blank. “You’re crazy, you know that? Fuckin’ crazy.” Rob muttered something angry under his breath before sitting back down. Kat let out a laugh, looked at him, and said, “You _are_ crazy, honestly. Just relax.” After that dilemma, we slowly but surely made our way over to the beach by the huge lake, which was entirely deserted, seeing that it was nine p.m., and the middle of October. We wandered along the beach for what could’ve been either minutes or hours- no one knew which- while we talked incessantly. Kat sat down on the cold, damp sand, muttering something to herself. And, then, we were all sitting down, our legs turned to jello, while the mindless conversation resumed. “Society is a fuckin’ joke, man…” “You know, it’s crazy that everybody in our group is hot, it’s fucking _insane_…” “Yeah, you know, the world’s probably gonna end in, like, five years, anyway…” “You’re such a dumbass, honestly…” Et cetera, et cetera. By the time we were all fully sober, it was nearly eleven, and we started to run back to Underground as it began to drizzle a cold, winter-warning rain. Wyatt and Rob vanished the moment we walked inside, and Sky had wandered off en route, mumbled something about _kicks_ and _bangs_, morphed into nonsensical, run-on sentences that slowly faded out as he disappeared. Kat quickly hid upstairs with a migraine and some Advil, while I called Speed using the old, yellowish phone beside the door. He didn’t answer, so I didn’t bother.

After an Ana-ordered midnight shower in the previously-unknown upstairs bathroom, I was exhausted, and sat down on the couch, opposite the strung-out pair of Ray and Sky, who were watching _Rebel Without A Cause_ with constricted pupils and half-closed eyelids. I watched the movie sleepily, braiding back my damp hair, while James Dean acted all angsty and smoked cigarettes and stuff. People staggered up and down the stairs, drunk in the early hours of Sunday morning. Doors slammed shut and then, twenty minutes later, they’d swing open with a creak and more drunks would tumble down the stairs. Wyatt came swaying into the living room, crashing into the couch beside me with an incomprehensible, drunken shriek. “Your liver must be _shot_, man…” I heard Sky mutter to Wyatt, his slurred voice bitter. “…Jesus Christ…” “At least my veins are clean…” Wyatt’s voice was muffled as his face was buried in a cushion. “And don’t call me a hypocrite…” I pretended to not hear them, watching the TV intensely, until Wyatt grabbed my hand and whispered hoarsely, “Layne? Layne?” I turned my head to look at him, and right away, he kissed me, winding his arms around me. My thoughts were screaming right along with my heart- I was too sober, and my mind was shrieking, _not here, not now, oh no!_ __ Fearful, I forcibly yanked my tongue out of his mouth and murmured, “Uh, do you think we can smoke a joint?” “Oh, sure.” But he was stupid drunk so I took his pot and smoked two joints on the small fire escape balcony by myself, then crawled after him into his room, again, and took off my shirt.

Almost every day until Halloween was like that: wake up at two or three in the afternoon, watch TV and get stoned, until the sun went down, when coffee would be drunk, and then, if no party was going on in Underground, we would head off to whatever parties, bars, or shows would have us, until the early hours of the morning, where I would make stupid decisions and end up in Wyatt’s bed, where he’d feed me Valium if I couldn’t sleep. And then, on October 31st, 1996, it happened. Pixies’ _Is She Weird_ was playing softly from the stereo, as Ana, Kat, and I dressed up in our Halloween costumes. Ana, ever-creative, sported a green-painted face and black witch’s attire. Kat’s costume consisted of a white blouse, a short white skirt, a drawn-on mole above her lip, and an insistence that she was a ginger Marilyn Monroe. My costume was a drunken idea, a supposed-to-be-funny joke, some sort of pun. Cheap pink wig, Wyatt’s leather jacket, and someone’s sunglasses, and I was supposed to be Layne Staley. I can’t remember who thought it was funny, but I guess it was because of my name. The Halloween party began at nine-thirty, with The Doors’ album _Strange Days_- much classier than the monster mash- blaring loud over the speakers. Drinking games ensued, everyone in costume. I flew, laughing like a madwoman, into a wall, pink wig askew. A bruise formed right on the side of my head, and I giggled at my stupidity. “Hey, Layne!” Called Ray, gesturing for me to go over to him, Wyatt, and Kat. I lurched over with a grin, singing along drunkenly: _“Love me two times, I’m goin’ away, love me two times, I’m goin’ away, love me two times…”_ __ “You alright?” Kat asked me, holding me upright slightly. “Yeah, yeah, I’m ok-a-a-a-y…” “Want some?” Ray held out a couple of pale red pills, discreetly offering. “_Ok-a-a-a-y…_” I lunged, right knee buckling towards, and clumsily took the pills, downing them with a choking cough. “Thanks, man.” Wyatt glanced sideways at me and took a sip of his drink. “Cool wig.” “Oh, thanks!” I giggled, my head suddenly feeling lighter than it had before. “I’m supposta be Layne _Staley_, ya know.” Wyatt and I ended up in some sort of meant-to-be swing dance, laughing manically as we drunkenly fell into each other, Jim Morrison’s voice crooning _My Eyes Have Seen You_. The darkened Halloween party began to feel lighter as those pills, whatever they were, kicked in, making everything seem lighter, faster, more agile and almost feline. Wyatt and I twirled each other around, giggling like children, as in-costume people seemed more and more distant, the music still blasting. And then we were making out in the corner of the room, bodies interlocked, until I had to rush to the bathroom to vomit up bile and alcohol, where he held my wig on my head until I could get up off the floor and get another drink. The floor was swaying under me, dizzying flashes dancing across my vision, until I could hardly stand up, let alone walk in a straight line. Midnight rolled around and I felt ready to fight a cop. “_All riiiiight_!” I screamed, crashing into a Frankenstein’s side, who muttered something angrily as I staggered away. I found Ana flirting with a long-haired hippie guy at the bar, and I shouted at her, “Hey, man, where’d hell’s Wyatt? Where’s he?” “Wyatt?” She asked, squinting her eyes at me. Her eyes, which were hugely dilated and not just from the dark. “He’s… He’s… I dunno! I think he’s with Sky, I dunno!” “C’mon, help me find ‘em!” I snatched her arm, hauling her off the bar stool, and she tumbled into me. The hippie guy looked confused as Ana and I lurched around to find Wyatt. It didn’t take long to find him, smoking by an open window with Sky, who fidgeted nervously and compulsively. I fell into Wyatt, knocking his cigarette, and kissed his neck with a goofy grin smeared across my face. “What’s up, what’s up, what’s up?” I mumbled incoherently. “We’re gonna split,” he mumbled back. “Sky’s car. Drive.” “Cool…” Ana pulled me off of Wyatt and shrieked, “You comin’? You comin’, Layne? Mr. Staley?” She giggled manically at that last part, as to her, it was completely hilarious. “What? _Yeeaaah_, I’m comin’!” I shrieked back, compulsively giggling back at her. The four of us stumbled our way to Sky’s car, which was trashed and ancient. Me and Ana took the back seats while Wyatt rode shotgun and Sky, still twitching nervously, started up the car and put in a _Smash_ CD- he was a huge The Offspring fan, as was revealed in one of many late-night, baked as hell conversations. It was four in the morning on a Thursday, on _Halloween_, which meant long, empty highways to be sped on. Sky hit the gas and we were off, _Self Esteem_ screaming with all the windows down to let in the cold late-night wind, my and Ana’s hair whipping at our faces. I’d gotten ahold of some more of those pills from Ray and my head was lighter than air again. Sky’s legs were spasming and he wasn’t in the right mind to drive, Wyatt started to scream that he should pull over. We were going to fast; my mind seemed to be flying along at the same speed as the car. “_Skylar_!” His long hair was flying everywhere, obscuring his sight. “Sky, hey, man! Stop’a damn car, c’mon!” “Shut up, okay, Wyatt? I’m _okay_.” Funnily enough, The Offspring’s _Bad Habit_ was playing when police sirens began to wail behind us. “It’s the cops!” Ana started to blubber, bawling something about the law. “It’s the cops, it’s the _cops_!” “_Pull over_!” Wyatt, drunk, leaned over to grab the wheel, which caused the car to jerk back and forth along the highway, careening from one side to the other madly. The police car behind us was shouting at us to pull over, with Wyatt agreeing, with Ana screeching in hysteria. My lungs spasmed and wanted to hyperventilate, stress crammed in every inch of my body. At the top of my lungs: “_Sky_!” He barreled to the left side of the road, slowing down until the car came screeching to a bumpy halt. A police officer promptly rushed up to Sky’s window, while Ana was still in mad hysterics. “Is- is she _okay_?” Stammered the officer, a younger guy looking shaken. “Ana! Ana, calm _down_! Calm the fuck down!” I shook her shoulders in fear, shouting over her until her vocals stopped and she was left heavy-breathing, her hair blown around her head as if styled like Robert Smith. Sky, irate, shoved his license at the cop, muttering, “I ain’t drunk, man!” The cop looked over his license, then squinted his eyes at Sky in examination. “Your pupils, Mr. Burroughs, are unusually constricted. Do you happen to be intoxicated, Mr. Burroughs?” “Fuck no!” _Was he?_ __ “Listen,” Sky snapped, glowering at the officer, “I don’t do drugs, I’m not _drunk_, okay, so can ya fuck off so me and my friends can enjoy Hallo-fucking-ween? Thanks!” And that’s how we ended up waiting around in a police station at six in the morning on the first of November. And that’s when the worst happened. Two cops apparently seemed to recognize me, and asked me my name. “Uh, my name is Layne.” I still had my stupid pink wig on, makeup running down my face, with Wyatt’s leather jacket heavy on my shoulders. “Full name?” Asked the female officer, with a stern, anxious look that reminded me of my mother. “Elena, uh, Elmer.” Then, I paused, my head throbbing, and asked, “Why? “You’re reported missing, Miss Elmer,” the other officer, a large man with a gray goatee. “Were you aware of this?” I laughed nervously, biting my lip. “I ain’t… I ain’t missing. That must be… I dunno, no, I’m not missing.” “Well, yes, you are. You’re _underaged_, too, it appears.” The woman looked over something on her clipboard. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to contact your parents.” “Wait, what? Why? I’m _nineteen_.” I was lying in vain now, my skin itching with anxiety. “I’m _nine_teen, man, you don’t get it.” “It says here that you’re _fifteen_, Miss Elmer…” “Well, it’s wrong!” I was getting worked up, my head racing hysterically. “It’s wrong! Please, don’t call my parents- they won’t _answer_, please, don’t bother, please-” The woman shrugged, walking away, and the man quickly followed after her. “Jesus Christ!” I said loudly to myself, leaning back in the plastic blue chair. I gazed over the police station, the same as every other one I’d been in. I stared at the _Drugs Screw You Up_ poster for a very long time, until Wyatt flopped down beside me with a sigh. “Sky’s in the shit,” he told me. “Might lose his license. Might do time. I don’t fucking know…” “Fuck,” I muttered, mostly to myself, then turned in my seat to look at him, and I said, “Listen, I’m missing, you know that? So the cops are gonna call my parents to come and get me. ‘Cause I ain’t exactly _nine_teen.” His eyebrows knit together in confusion. “What’re you saying, Layne?” “I’m _seven_teen,” I lied again, fear-stricken. “I shouldn’t have lied, right, but…” And suddenly, I felt like throwing up from nerves, my heart going so lightning fast that it made me sick. “I mean, I _like_ you, okay, I _like_ you, and I shouldn’t have lied about _anything_ but you gotta understand-” “So you left home, and your parents want you back now?” “Yeah. But, I swear- please, can we keep in touch, or something? Please.” My mind was speeding almost as fast as my heart, everything felt like it was going too fast. My stomach acids scorched my throat, bile begging to be thrown up. “I’m _high_, man…” “Well, sure, we can stay in touch… You’re barely two years younger than me, I mean, it’s not bad or nothin’- wait, what’re you high on?” Wyatt pulled some of his hair out of his face and looked worriedly at me. “Whatever the fuck I got from Ray!” My vision was speeding, too, at that point. “I think I’m gonna be sick…” “Ray? What the fuck?” After a moment of silence, Wyatt kissed my cheek and passed me a sticky-note from his pocket, a sticky-note with a phone number on it. “Call me when you get home, will you?” “Really! Really? Of course, I will.” Conveniently, the female officer came back and told me that she’d called my parent’s house and they were driving to get me right at that very moment. “Until they get here, you’ll have to stay here.” And, _bam_! Just like that, me and Ana locked up in a _cell_, with Wyatt and Sky right in the cell beside us. After an hour, my head had stopped throbbing and my body was slowing down again, but I ended up vomiting in the green-painted sink. Soon after my vomiting, another cop, a buff woman with the beginnings of a mustache, came and said that we’d have to do drug tests, something to do with Sky and his stupid fuck-up that had landed us there in the first place. The worst part was that all of us knew that we’d definitely been high on one thing or another in the past week.

It was about eight in the morning and the way I started off November was by pissing into a cup in a dirty police station somewhere near the U.S. border. I was still nervous and jittering, my heartbeat swift, but I was coming down and exhausted still. Ana was in hysterics the whole time because, due to her “harboring a runaway,” she was facing “legal issues” that made my eyes fall away guiltily. She insisted she wasn’t mad, while tears dragged away her green face paint and she profusely told me, “I’m _not_ mad at you… I swear, you’re cool, I’ll miss you, I _will_…” But I could tell that everyone was at least _mildly_ upset at me for adding a whole new layer of _legal issues_. I felt awful about it, too, with a huge migraine and a whole lot of nervous fidgeting. Wyatt called an aunt and was out of there by nine, telling me to call him with a kiss goodbye. By noon, Ana left, facing luckily only a fine, albeit a hefty one. Sniffling, she kissed my cheek and told me, “You’re cool, Layne, everyone digs you, I swear, everyone digs you! Come on back as soon as you can…” Then, with a giggle, “Without giving me a goddamn fine.” “Sorry about that,” I said for the thousandth time. “I’m really, really sorry. And I’m sorry for lying…” “Oh, don’t be sorry!” And then: “Bye-bye, Layne, bye-bye.” Sky and I had to stick around longer, and we sat facing each other, separated by the cell’s bars, talking in halted, bad conversation. “So, you’re just a kid, eh?” He said to me, scratching violently with a shaky gaze. “I’m _seven_teen,” I continued lying. “I’m _only_ three years younger than you.” “I don’t care. There’s been fuckin’ thirteen-year-old groupies tryna get into Underground before. No one gives a shit, really.” His blue gaze was glazed and feverish, his chin breaking out in pimples while sores and scars tracked up his bare arms. “Oh.” After a long moment of silence, he asked, “What’s it that you was high on? R- I mean, that guy could’ve given you pretty much anything, you know.” “Oh, yeah.” I sighed, rubbing my temples. “I don’t fuckin’ know, man.” “Oh. Cool.” Halting small-talk flicked back and forth between us for another four hours.  It was nearly five o’clock before a cop let me out and brought me to my mom and James, who both looked like they’d just survived a zombie apocalypse. My mom burst into tears when she saw me, and she’d obviously been crying long before that, too, her face red with swollen, wet eyes. “Jesus Christ!” She wailed, sobbing in James’ arms. “What’s happened to my baby! What’s going _on_!” James comforted her quietly while I stood, eyes vacant, in silence. A familiar-looking officer began talking to them in hushed tones with several concerned glances in my direction. I wasn’t listening, but every so often, one of them would gasp and start to weep at the cop’s words, horrified, heartbroken. My eyes widened, and two words struck my head: _Oh no_. I could see Wyatt, my full backpack in his hands. Sweat dripped down every inch of me in fright. He spotted me, began to walk over, and, looking anywhere but my confused parents, passed me my backpack, whispering, “I thought you might want your stuff.” “Yeah,” I whispered back, biting my lip madly. “Thanks, Wyatt.” “Uh…” He glanced awkwardly at James, who was glowering at him. “I gotta run, but… Love ya, Layne, bye.” And with that, he hurried out of the police station. I sighed as he left, slinging my heavy backpack over my shoulder, watching the shiny blue linoleum floor quite intensely. Hot tears burned behind my eyes. Then, shocked out of my thoughts, the officer ushered me out with my parents. Just like that, I was back in the back seat of James’ car, tearful and sickly, with my mom wiping at her face in the passenger seat, with my stepdad forlornly staring out the windshield. “Who was that guy- that _man_, who gave you your bag?” Asked James, his voice weary, his tone desolate. Not angry, but disappointed. “Wyatt,” I replied. No point in lying, anyway. “He’s my… We’re… Kinda a thing, by the way.” When no one said anything, I added sheepishly, “I’m sorry.” With that, more wailing from my mother, who covered her face and muttered, “Oh, Dear God…” James’ started up the car. “I need some more coffee, and, Elena, I’m guessing you’re hungry? We’ll stop at a gas station for something to eat, okay?” “Okay,” I sniffled, zipping up Wyatt’s leather jacket and buckling my seat belt. “Why’re you wearing that wig?” He asked after a long minute of driving in silence. “And…” “Oh, it’s my Halloween costume.” I quickly pulled the pink hairdo off my head and dropped it to the floor. “I was meant to be Layne Staley, for Halloween.” My mom whispered something to James and then shrieked, “_Amphetamines!_” “_What_?” Her shrill yell made my head roar in pain, and my mind went away whirring with possibilities of what she meant. “You were on _amphetamines_?” My mother, the ever-crying banshee, turned in her seat to look at me, and the sight of her face made my gaze drop lower. The sheer horror of having me as a daughter must’ve been driving them insane. So _that’s_ what Ray had given me. “Oh,” I replied sullenly, “Yes, I guess I was.” James said hastily, “Now, Elena, you’ve gotta understand how worried we were… You were just _gone_ for _three weeks_! We reported you _missing_, and for all we knew, you could’ve been dead in a ditch somewhere. You _have_ to understand how upset we’ve been…” “I do, I do, yeah, I understand.” I paused and thought it all over for a moment, and then continued, “I’m really sorry. I know I must be driving you crazy all of the time…” My mom cried out something incoherent, shoulders shaking. Then: “Oh, Dear God! Dear God!” We drove to a gas station in silence, where James went in and bought coffee for himself, and thin, cheap sandwiches for me and my mother. I devoured my sandwich as we drove and tried to sleep as we headed north, sun setting over the horizon. But I couldn’t sleep. My mind was whirring violently, hands twitching as fingers compulsively fidgeted with the zipper on Wyatt’s leather jacket. “D’you think I could choose some music?” I asked James, my voice low. “I can’t sleep, and…” “Sure, sure, pick something,” he replied, too hastily, voice hoarse and disappointed. I passed him my _Jar Of Flies_ CD, asked him to skip to track four and play it first. _No Excuses_ came playing softly, comforting my anxiety-ridden head. I stared out the window, rain beating against the glass in the dark. Eventually, I must’ve fallen asleep, because when I woke up, it was two in the morning and James was just pulling into the driveway that I hadn’t seen in three weeks. I swayed out of the car as if in a trance, making a beeline to the bathroom to take a well-needed, scorching hot shower. I scrubbed every inch of myself clean for half an hour, then got into my pajamas, ready to go back to sleep, when I heard more sobbing from the living room, where my parents sat, tearful and hugging. I stood in the hallway, hair dripping water down my spine, debating whether I should go to bed or go talk to my parents. After five minutes, I went to bed, spending twenty minutes twisting and turning, unable to sleep at all. And, sleepless, I wandered out to the kitchen, where my mother still sat, dismally drinking a cup of tea. “I can’t sleep, Mom.” I sighed, sitting down at the kitchen table beside her. “I guess you can’t, either…” “I can’t. I’ve hardly been able to sleep at all for the past three weeks, actually.” “I’m sorry. I really mean it, I am.” And I did mean it. “You remind me too much of your father, you know. You look a lot like him, and that makes it a _lot_ worse…” She let out a nervous laugh that made a vision of Ana flash into my mind. “I used to wait up until this time of night all the time when you were a little baby, waiting for _him_… Oh, God, that feels like a hundred years ago…” “I feel awful for doing this to you, Mom. I love you, okay?” I smiled weakly, my body begging me to sleep while my mind spilled over with anxious fears. “I love you, too, honey… I’m gonna go to bed, okay? Please try to seep, Elena…” She stumbled uneasily to the sink, where she placed her teacup down, and then continued to her and James’ bedroom. “Goodnight.” I started down the hallway. “Goodnight, Mom.”

Monday morning came too quickly. I spent the whole weekend sleeping, staying home from school Friday because I’d only gotten _home_ at two a.m. I was stressing out about school, having three weeks worth of work to complete before winter break. I’d grown a fear of having to repeat the tenth grade after a series of stressful conversations with my parents. I got The Looks from almost _everyone_ as soon as I walked down the hall to my locker, as I raked my brain for the combination. The reason behind The Looks, I later found out, was because my picture was in the newspaper almost all October. In every class, I had mountains of work, late assignments, homework… I needed to focus, but my brain was screaming with worry, with a storm cloud brewing over my head. By noon, I was just about ready to drop out. I sat alone at lunch, whispers going around about me, fingers pointing. Until Erica, who I’d forgotten about until that moment, sat down across from me, her face smiling in that friendly way. “Hey- Layne, right?” She took a bite out of her apple, causal, but her eyes watched me intently. “Yup.” I wasn’t much in the mood for talking, head spinning chronically. “Everyone’s been talking about you, you know. You’re, like, famous.” I sighed. “Not really what I wanted to be famous for, but alright. Hey, Erica, listen, do you have a cell phone? I gotta call someone.” I hadn’t been able to call Wyatt over the weekend, and desperately wanted to talk to him. “What? No, I don’t. Sorry.” She looked sympathetic for a moment before continuing, “Anyways, you know there are a lotta rumours going around about you?” “Oh.” I stared vacantly at my plastic fork. _Not this again_, my mind pleaded, _please, not this again._ “What’re they saying about me, exactly?” “Yeah, I thought you should know what they’re saying, exactly, yeah. Basically, well…” Erica pursed her lips, then went on, “Well, somebody thought you might be, like, one of those girls who… Who, like, was in one of those places, and stuff-” “Erica,” I interrupted her, voice flat. “Just fucking tell me.” “Someone was thinking you might be _crazy_. And someone else was saying that you were, like, a prostitute or something, but that got shut down.” My jaw dropped, my stomach lurched. “_What_? _Who_?” “No, uh, no one _really_ believes any of it, it’s just that in these newspapers, they got your school picture in there and all, and it’s all how you totally went missing-” “Shut the fuck up! _Who_ is sayin’ this shit about me, Erica? Tell me!” I demanded, my eyebrows knit together. I’d lost my appetite with rage, lunch untouched. “Oh, um, just… Everyone, pretty much. Most people have at least heard, I don’t really know who _started_ all this, but…” And with that, she picked up her lunch and scurried away, timid. I dropped my head on the table, covering it with my arms. Burning tears were building behind my eyes, my heart mourning the last school I’d gone to- the similarity of the situations was burning a hole in my head. Two-forty-five and the dismissal bell went off, I hurried to the nearest pay phone before heading home, slipping in my quarters to call Wyatt. A slurred, weary voice answered the phone: “Hardcore Underground, who the _fuck_ are you and who the _fuck_ do you wanna talk to?” “I’m Layne,” I replied, “I gotta talk to Wyatt. Is he there?” “Yeah, gimme a sec.” After a long minute, Wyatt’s voice on the phone murmured, “Hey, Layne… Thought you forgot about me for a second, ya know?” “Sorry, I just couldn’t find the time to call… Everything’s crazy. How’re you?” “Eh. Fine. Everything is crazy here, too. Ana’s a fuckin’ mess and… Sky’s fuckin’ dead.” His tone went cold, grieving. My voice caught in my throat and I began to trip over my words. “Wh-_what_? He’s- Sky’s- _what_?” “He OD’d and died on Saturday. It was on purpose.” Wyatt had taken on a new, unfeeling way of speaking that unnerved me. Intellectual, emotionless, even bored. “What, Wyatt? _What_? How… How do you know it was on purpose?” I’d felt like crying all day and the news of Sky’s death just about set me off. I sniffled, trying hard not to shed a tear. “Because I know. I knew he was gonna do it sooner or later.” “Are you alright…? You’re sounding a little… I dunno. I guess you aren’t really alright, but…” I exhaled shakily. “You don’t sound like yourself.” “Oh.” “Uh… How’s that record label thing going?” I asked, for lack of anything better. “Oh, yeah!” Wyatt’s voice turned to normal, happier. “It’s all going great- a little crazy ‘cause Underground’s all fucked for a bit, but we got shows at some new places, some cool places, and… It’s all going well.” I smiled and asked lightheartedly, “When you’re a big rockstar, are you gonna forget about me?” “No, no, I could never.” Then, after a moment of silence, he added, “I wanna see you, Layne.” “Yeah, well, I don’t think I’ll be comin’ back anytime soon… I don’t think I _can_, that is. You can drive up to fucking Pleasant Grove… Plesant-fucking-Grove… If you want, but it’s, you know, it’s a long as hell drive.” “Fuck that, honestly. Fuck that shit.” He sighed loudly, cleared his throat. “Yeah…” My heartbeat was calmer already, my body relaxed and happy. Just talking to this guy on the phone was like the best high in the world. “It sucks, I know, but…” “But what?” “I dunno. I don’t even know what I was gonna say in the first place.” “Oh… Hey, I’ll look up Pleasant Grove on a map, okay? Maybe I’ll…” His voice trailed off. “I gotta go in a sec, sorry, Layne…” I gave him my house number and told him to call, then we said goodbye and hung up. I realized that I should probably get home quickly in case my mom was home, but, luckily, when I got home, she was still working. The minute I got home, I kicked off my sneakers and put on this mixtape that someone had made me a while back, and, with Nirvana’s _Big Long Now_ playing, I laid down in bed with a book, _The Alchemist_. Relaxing serotonin flooded me like warm milk in the evening after a long, hard day’s work. Thank God for some peace and quiet.

It was nearly winter break by the time I’d caught up on all my missed work, and my grades were still terrible, my life still boring and lonely. Everything felt like it was going downhill. One frozen Wednesday in December, I was sitting in my room, flipping through this pretty underground magazine, when I saw it: _The Paranoids_, an italicized heading along the mid-section of the paper. My jaw fell away and I gasped, muttering aloud, “Holy fucking shit.” My eyes began reading the half-a-page article so quickly that my brain could barely keep up. The gist of it was that they’d released an EP of four songs, self-titled, with some label I’d never heard of before. I stumbled into the living room and dialed the phone number that was scrawled along the sticky-note that I still had. Ana answered, “Hello, who’s this?” “Ana! It’s me, Layne!” I hastily continued, before she could interrupt, “Guess what I just read in this magazine? Guess what?” “Ooh, what?” I could hear her buzzing with excitement already. “The Paranoids released an EP? Did you know that?” “Well, of course I did!” She laughed. “There’s magazines about ‘em up north, too? Did you buy it? _Did you_!” “No where around _here_ will sell it, but I’m gonna fuckin’ look, anyway. That’s so cool, man!” “Isn’t it? Man, I dig that label, too.” “Is Wyatt there? Can I talk to him?” I asked, picking at my cuticles anxiously. “Sure, gimme a sec.” I waited for a long minute, forever thankful that my parents were still at work. Then, Wyatt’s voice: “Layne?” “Hey!” My face broke out into a smile. “You’re a fuckin’ rockstar now! I saw you and the guys in a magazine!” “_Really_? Have you listened to the EP yet? You’ll really love it, I think, you’re really gonna love it.” “Not yet… I don’t know if I’m gonna be able to find it here, but I’m gonna _try_.” “Cool, cool, that’s cool. You’re gonna love it, I know it.” My heart was soaring, and I grinned wide. “I’ll find a way to listen to it, I promise.” “Oh, that’s great, Layne.” Then: “Hey, you still got my leather jacket? I’ve been looking for it.” “Yeah, sorry, I do…” I raked my mind for a way to see him… To give him his jacket back, of course. “That’s alright. You can keep it, you know? One day, when I’m a big rockstar, you can try to give it back to me and I can pretend I don’t remember you.” “Thanks, Wyatt.” I was still smiling like mad. I paused and hesitantly added, “I wish I could come back to Sovernon. But, you know, I can’t… Not yet, anyway.” “Yeah, you’re pretty cool to hang out with. It’s a shame… Uh, hey, it’s my birthday soon, you know? December seventeenth.” “Oh, happy birthday.” _He’s turning twenty_. “Wanna drive seven hours to see me one day?” I blurted the words out before any organs that produced thoughts could tell me not to. I don’t know why, I just did. And then, in the moment he said nothing, anxiety streaked through me fearfully. “Oh, sure.” His candid response shocked me, for some reason. I guess I never expected anyone to waste seven hours driving to see me. And suddenly, we made plans to see each other on January third, two days before the end of my winter break, and two days after the very first day of the new year. As soon as he hung up, I called Speed urgently. It went to voicemail and I left a message: “Speed, listen, can you check both the record stores and see if you can find an EP for me? It’s called _The Paranoids_, and I really need it. I can pay you back if you can get it for me and bring it, please, Speed. Man, I really need it before January. Thanks, thank you so much. Call me back.” After leaving a message, I nervously paced around the house with feverish anxiety. My mom would be home any minute and it felt like I’d broken some unspoken law, making plans and calling guys that had been indirectly forbidden by my parents. She would never know, yet I was scared out of my mind for no reason at all. The sound of the front door swinging open made me jump, then my mom’s voice: “Hi, Elena- Oh, what’s wrong?” “Nothing,” I hastily replied. “Nothin’s wrong, Mom.” “Really? You look a little pale… Are you sick?” My mother had, after releasing her terrified anger at me for leaving, become more worried and caring than ever. Not as overbearing as one would think, but clearly frightened as a mother, softened. “No, no, I’m not sick.” I forced a smile, and half-lied, “I’m just stressed because of all this school work, you know? I wanna get as much done before break as possible, ‘cause I really don’t wanna get held back.” She set down her purse and gave me a stiff, abnormal hug. “You’re too smart to get held back. You’ll be just fine.” “Yeah, I’m sure I’ll be fine. Just a little worried, that’s all.”

Christmas came and went. Nothing special. Nothing particularly bad and nothing particularly good. I was still bored, apathetic and tired of life. Christmas cartoons, turkey, and a quiet end to the quiet month of December. January was approaching, and I was stuck in the house for all winter break. One day, my mom sat down to talk to me, pensive and serious. “Listen, I know New Year’s Eve is soon,” she said, “And I know it sucks for you, having no friends here, and being _very much_ grounded for your past behaviour… I hate seeing you so lonely and stuck in the house all the time, Elena, but you have to understand _why…_ Because I don’t want you to get hurt, you know that, don’t you?” “Yeah, yeah, I understand,” I replied, not wasting a second. “I know, it’s alright. I deserve it, anyway, and, Mom, I’m _really_ sorry.” “Then you have to understand why you are spending New Year’s Eve with your _parents_, right?” My heart sank. The previous New Year’s Eve was spent at wild yet pretty small party in somebody’s basement, drinking like it was the end of the world, with only one intention: to get as fucked up as possible before 1996 began. “Yeah. I know.” I paused before asking quietly, “Do you think I can go out just for the afternoon, on January third…? My friend… A friend of mine is coming into town, and… His birthday was a couple weeks ago, you know, but we couldn’t hang out, ‘cause I’m in a lot of trouble still, right? But he can come into town on the third and…” “Who’s _he_?” My mother cocked her head, raised her eyebrows. She was thinking of Speed, I guessed, while I was wondering what answer would make her most likely to say _yes_. “Well…” I couldn’t think of the words fast enough, despite the rapid pace of my insides. “Well, he’s…” “Your boyfriend, I’m guessing?” She smiled softly, but her eyes were pained, which made me feel guilty, for no reason, really. “No, no, not _exactly_.” _Shut up, shut up, why can’t you find the right words?_ “Uh, but I… I… Uh, can I go out and hang out with him, on January third, Mom? Please?” She thought about this for a long moment, then replied, “I’m going to talk it over with James, okay?” “Okay…” My mouth curved into a frown. I was almost certain the answer would be a sharp _no_.  She patted me on the shoulder softly, stood up, and sauntered away calmly. The next day, at dinner, with the three of us eating chicken pie, James stated flatly: “I have to go to this work thing on New Year’s Eve. I hope you two don’t mind me not being here.” “Oh.” My mom sighed. “I was hoping we could all maybe rent a Christmas movie to watch together, like a family…?” “I’m sorry, Wendy, but I really have to go to this work party. For my boss, you know, honey…” I stared at my plate, fork screeching along the china. Everything seemed to depress me more: the sorry state of my family, the dirty snow piling outside the windows, the fact that neither Speed nor Wyatt had called me back… “Really? Oh… James, that job is hollowing you out, I swear.” I dragged my fork the rest of the way along my plate, then across the table, brown gravy stains scratching into the cheap wood. Both my parents looked at me. Confused, worried. At the same time, “_Elena_?” Unthinkingly, with a blank face, I carved out four shallow lines in the table with the sharp ends of my fork. I looked up, frowning, and said, “Sorry.” “What was that for?” My mom gaped, a look of shock flashing across her face quickly before it was replaced by annoyance. “Why did you do that, Elena?” I shrugged and let my fork fall to the floor, a soft metallic _clang_ against the floor. “Are you okay?” James asked, reaching down to grab the fork. He set it down slowly beside my plate again. Again, I shrugged, rather apathetically. I didn’t know why I did that. I wasn’t thinking. I wasn’t even _feeling_. I wasn’t… _Anything_. “Elena, talk to us,” he continued, tense. “Nothin’ to talk about, James.” “Are you upset about… Us not having finished thinking about if we’re going to let you hang out with… _Some guy_?” Was I? I didn’t know. I wasn’t really upset with them for anything. I just felt empty. “Uh, kinda.” They exchanged a glance, then James went on: “The thing is, we don’t _know_ this guy. We don’t even know his name or anything about him. Maybe if-” “His name is Wyatt,” I hastily interrupted. “He doesn’t live here, he lives kinda far out of town, you know… Goes to a different school and all that.” “Which school does he go to?” “I don’t fuckin’ know, Mom. I don’t know what school he goes to.” I sighed, _feeling_ coming back into every inch of me. “Okay… Well, James and I are going to discuss it a little more, and we’ll let you know tomorrow. Is that okay, Elena?” My mom spoke very slowly, like a slightly fearful, apprehensive therapist towards a stupid kid. “Okay. That’s okay.”

New Year’s Eve was a drag, and January first was even more of a drag. But, by January third, I could get out of bed and make myself look okay again. I guess my parents thought my pit of depression was caused by _boy troubles_ and therefore, by letting me see Wyatt that day, they were gonna heal me, or something. Which, based on the way I’d been acting, wasn’t a bad assumption- but it certainly _wasn’t_ fact. Well… Not entirely, anyway. By noon that day, I finally left the house for the first time in about a week, since I’d become a total hermit during Christmas, rarely even leaving my bedroom. When Sky’s car pulled up on the snowy sidewalk outside the abandoned, wintry school yard, an emotional rock clubbed at my heart. Then, the driver’s window rolled down and Wyatt stuck his head out, big round sunglasses sliding down his nose. “Hey, Layne!” I climbed into the passenger seat. Not quite alive yet- still frozen, unused to most human interaction since November. “Hi,” I replied blandly. “Man, you look _sick_- are you okay?” “Oh, I’m not sick. Just pale, ‘cause it’s, like, fuckin’ _January_.” I sighed, stared out the windshield as Wyatt drove down the icy streets of Pleasant Grove. “Wait, are you mad at me, or something? What the fuck?” Wyatt asked with a frown in my direction. “No, no, it’s just…” I sighed deeply. “I dunno. Nothing seems to be going right.” “Oh.” He didn’t talk again, focusing on driving, for a very long time, until: “Wanna go see a movie later, or something like that?” “Sure.” Then,  I remembered and added, “Happy birthday, by the way.” “Thanks. So, did you get a hold of our record at all?” “Nope.” I leaned my head back wearily. “Haven’t heard a single song, sadly.” “Lucky for you…” He reached down into his CD storage and tossed one to me. “I’ve got a CD for you.” I admired the artwork of the cover, which was a monochromatic blue-washed picture of the band, with blurry white fonts. Then, I popped the CD into the CD player of the car as fast as I could without fumbling, and out of the speakers came a roaring sort of sleazy rock ‘n’ roll that sounded like the 70’s. He grinned madly at me. “Do you like it? Do you? _I _wrote this song, man!” “It’s fuckin’ genius, it’s fuckin’ _great_!” I returned the grin, and it was an honest one. “I love it. I love it so much.” “Me and the guys all signed that one for ya, Layne, so you can remember us and all that. A souvenir, if you will.” “I think this’s the best CD I own now,” I replied, admiring the album artwork. The four songs were _Stoned, Good Looking, Twitch, _and then, a cover of Danzig’s _Mother_. “Well, what’d you wanna do? I guess this town is pretty boring…” He laughed kind of nervously. “We can go see a movie later, or something.” “Yeah, I dunno… Pretty much the whole time I’ve lived here, I’ve been a hermit.” I sighed. “I’ve got no fuckin’ friends or nothing. It _sucks_.” “Yeah, I bet. I wish you could come back to Sovernon… Ana’s a psycho without you, I swear to God.”  I giggled. “She’s the best friend I’ve had in a while, you know, I miss her.” Wyatt sighed, turned a corner sharply. “Let’s just get stoned,” he suggested, rather absentmindedly. “That sounds great, man.” By the time the EP ended, we pulled into a Burger King parking lot- it was the same Burger King I had gone to with Speed, actually. I put on the CD again while Wyatt dug in the console of Sky’s car, muttering something to himself as he pulled the hair out of his eyes. “What’s going on with Sleze?” I asked, my heart sinking as I thought about those guys. “What’re they doing now…?” “Oh, you know.” There it was again, that flat, strange tone. No feelings, no meaning. “You know. I dunno. They’re okay.” I raked my brain for the right words, but couldn’t pull up anything better than, “I’m sorry…” “It ain’t your fault.” I sighed, leaning my head back against the leather headrest. “Yeah, but I’m still sorry. It’s such a shame…” Wyatt yanked a box of gum from somewhere hidden in the console, but inside there was no gum; only too many round, pale blue pills. He popped a few and then passed me my share. No water needed. We sat motionless for a moment, watching the light snow fall, watching the kids in my grade clock in and out of their fast food shifts, watching the few customers come and go. The world was dead silent, except for the music that roared along in the car. The Valium kicked in swiftly, and everything was softer, more relaxed. No corners or edges, just lightheaded  “I wonder…” Wyatt’s voice trailed off. “Never mind, actually.” “Oh. Okay.” “Uh, I guess you don’t know anyone we can get pot from, right?”  “Nope.” I exhaled, shut my eyes for a moment, and shivered. Stoned again. “This place is so square, it’s like… It’s like…” “Nixon’s golden child,” finished Wyatt with a weary chuckle. “Pretty much… It ain’t even funny, it just fuckin’ _sucks_.” “Aw, man… What’re we supposed to _do_ in this _place_, anyway?” “What I’ve been askin’ myself since day one, Wyatt, babe. Nearly _five_ months… Like, _four_ months!” I sighed, then laughed quietly. My eyes wanted to shut forever. “Okay, let’s go see what’s on at the movies, then. We can just see whatever’s on, you know?” Wyatt suggested, rubbing his temples before pulling out of the parking lot. There was some war movie playing at the theatre, so we bought tickets and sat at the very back of the place; a classic move that I wasn’t exactly unaccustomed to. And you wanna know what happened? Wyatt and I ended up tangled between each other and those folding theatre chairs, which squeaked uncomfortably.  Unfortunately, an older man was sitting far too close to us, trying to enjoy the explosions and guns of this World War Two epic. He grunted and muttered, “Can’t you youngsters find a different make-out movie? I’m _trying_ to watch this _film_.” We ignored him, obviously. “Know what, Layne?” Wyatt giggled, his eyes falling asleep for half a second. “You’re pretty, Layne.” I giggled back, high on pills and drunk on kisses. “_You’re_ pretty…” The mosaic of theatre chairs seemed to shift, grumbling beneath us. The loud screams of the war movie screeched in my ears, while my heart galloped in different directions at the same time, and yet everything seemed to be moving slower than it should’ve. Gravity was broken, and not for the first time. Entangled in the back of the theatre, tongues swapping back and forth, my heart going quicker until everything was slow-motion. The plastic arm rest gave an awkwardly shrill wail, while people glanced back at us with a shake of their heads. A curtain of his hair fell over my face, and he whispered, “How ‘bout we ditch this shitty movie?” The movie was nearly done, anyway, so we slipped quietly out of the theatre into the already-dark freeze of the parking lot, and then into the car, whose shitty heaters were trying desperately to keep the five o’clock cold at bay. I put on _The Paranoids_ EP again, and we giggled over each other, both giddy in each other’s presence. Everything was just as soft as the snow that still drifted down from the sky outside. “Hey, Layne?” Wyatt whispered to me, itching anxiously at his leather-clad arm. “Yeah?” “I think I’m in love with you.” He paused while my face fell loose in surprise. “I mean, like, _seriously_, I think I really am.” “Really? _Really_?” I had the urge to scream. In a good way, of course. I began murmuring “Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ,” under my breath until the words fell out of my chest: “I love you, too.”

The next thing I know, it’s eleven o’clock at night and Wyatt is pulling into my driveway, sober yet exhausted and jittery. I climbed out of the warm car into the icy cold, then I fumbled to unlock the door while Wyatt waved at me from the car, which was idling in the driveway. “Mom? James? Are you still awake?” I called as I walked inside, and found them watching _Die Hard_ in the living room, half asleep. “Oh, you’re home… Right on time.” My mom smiled. I knew she was overjoyed that I was home on time, sober and unscathed. “Oh, Elena…” “Listen, Mom. Just listen.” I sat down on the edge of the couch beside her. “Wyatt’s got a _seven_ hour drive to get home, you know, and it’s _eleven_ now, and he’s tired, and-” “Elena, dear Lord, just ask me what you want to ask me.” “Could he stay here? Just for tonight? Please?” _This is dangerous_, my brain screamed at me. _Why the hell are you risking it all? Oh, right._ __ She sighed. “I suppose it’s unfair that I make him drive all the way back, at eleven at night in January. It’s pretty unsafe. _But_-” She glowered at me sternly, “He will be sleeping on the couch, and _only_ on the couch, while _you_ will be sleeping in your _bed_. Do you hear me?” My eyes drifted from the couch to my room down the hall. “What if we’ve got the door open? And the hallway lights on?” “I’m not falling for that. It’s the couch or nothing, Elena.” “Okay,” I agreed with a dismal sigh. “Let me go get him, then.” I jumped outside with a shiver and gestured for Wyatt to follow me in. Shoes and jackets came off, and I heard James call, “How about you two come watch the rest of this movie with us?” I glanced at Wyatt, frowning, and whispered in the quietest way possible, right in his ear: “Parents think you’re eighteen, by the way.” Which was nonsense, because I hadn’t said anything to my parents about his age. “Just… Don’t mention age, okay? Please.” “Sure, alright,” he replied, and we awkwardly sat down on the couch with my parents, who both cast sideways glares at him. “So, Wyatt, is it?” James said with a pessimistic exhale. “Yeah. Nice to meet you.” The introductions felt oddly formal, but then we all settled back and watched Bruce Willis kill people on the TV. “Well, what did you two get up to today?” My mother asked with a smile, but I knew what worries her mind would be conjuring: _Drinking? Drugs? Crime? Sex?_ __ “We went to the movies,” I replied. “Some war movie was on, you know. Explosions and shit like that.” “That’s lovely.” “Well, Wyatt,” James began, sounding ill-tempered already. “How old are you, exactly? You look pretty wise, eh?” The only way to make it sound not threatening was to add a chuckle at the end. “I’m eighteen,” he said, forcing a tight smile. “Ah, so you’ve _graduated…_ What do you do for a living, then?” “I’m a musician.” “Yeah, yeah,” I added with a soft grin, “He and his band just released an EP!” “Oh, that’s amazing!” My mom smiled, clapping her hands together. “I’m sure you’re extremely talented, Wyatt.” “He is,” I agreed with a nod. “He really is.” We continued that sort of tense small talk for a while, fraught with undertones of suspicion from everybody, sideways looks that spoke of anxiety, and nervous compulsive twitches. And then, the credits of _Die Hard_ rolled, and my parents went to bed in silence. “Oh my fucking _God_,” I whispered to Wyatt. “That just about gave me a _fucking_ panic attack.” He smiled softly at me. “What? You don’t think they like me?” “As soon as you leave, they’re gonna give me hell. I just know it.” “Aw, c’mon, chill out.” He kissed me on the forehead. “Go sleep, okay? I’ll talk to you in the morning.” Between Valium and an assurance that Wyatt was just down the hall, I managed to sleep well, but when I woke up in the morning, with a violent headache and nausea, he’d already left.

My first day back at school was even more alienating than the entire first semester. At least, the rumours about me had, from what I knew, entirely dissipated, but I still had no friends. I mumbled to myself, face hidden in my locker, about Sovernon and dreams of escape. I couldn’t help it, which made it worse, but I didn’t have the energy to care about what anyone thought about me. If Erica was right about how everyone had heard the rumours, then there was no point in trying to be normal, anyway. I kicked over every trash can on the way home, flipped off anyone who yelled at me. Not thinking, not really feeling. Again. As soon as I got home, to an empty house, I called Underground. I always did. “Good morning…” Answered a sleepy voice. It was three-thirty in the afternoon. “Hey, is Wyatt there?” I asked, biting my lower lip. “Uh, no, no, I don’t think so. Want me to give him a message or something?” “Just tell him Layne called, willya? Thanks.” “Of course. Bye-bye.” I slammed the phone back into the base, frowning, and stalked back to my room, where I shrugged on that leather jacket that still smelled like alcohol and October. I crashed down into my bed with a sigh, but only for a moment. I jumped back up to put _In Utero_ on, roaring loudly, and then sat down on the floor with the book I was reading. The days of sludgey gray January passed all the same, no difference between them except for what I ate for dinner that night. Most afternoons, someone from Sovernon would call, whether it was Ana or Wyatt or Kat or someone else. Sometimes my mom would let me talk to them, other times she would say I was busy and hang up the phone before I could protest. “I’m writin’ more songs,” Wyatt told me over the phone one soggy late-January afternoon. “Well, all of us are. We’re gonna see if we could make this whole album, you know?” “That’s great, that’s really great,” I replied, forcing my voice to be more enthusiastic. “The scene here will be better than in Seattle, promise! Everyone’s writin’ something or other now, ‘cause they wanna be like us and get on a label and stuff.” “Is Sleze still going?” I asked, heart breaking at the thought. _Without Sky._ __ “Oh. They kinda went their separate ways, you know. Starting up new things. I dunno.” There, that tone again. I shouldn’t have mentioned it. “Oh, yeah…” “I can’t believe it’s already nearly February,” he hastily changed the subject. “I’m coming to town on that Valentine’s Day no matter what. I don’t care who’s busy, I’m gonna.” I cracked a smile. “Fucking perfect. And it’s a good thing I’m not ever goddamn _busy_ anymore…” “Don’t worry, Layne, everything’s gonna be great soon.” “Sure, yeah. It will.” I tried to smile, staring at a house plant vacantly while Wyatt told me everything about the music, the bands, the gigs, the parties, the scene… Until someone in Underground screeched at him to get off the phone, and he hung up. I scurried back down the hallway to my room before anyone could question: _who’ve you been on the phone with for over an hour, Layne?_

The first of February was an unseasonably warm, sunshine-filled day that brought me no joy whatsoever. It was a Saturday, so I sat around in my room, blinds drawn, with The Paranoids blasting from my CD player- it was without a doubt my favourite CD I owned at that point, and I played it everyday. James knocked on my bedroom door before opening it. He said, “Elena, why don’t you go outside, for a walk, maybe? It’s pretty nice out, you should take advantage of it instead of sitting in your room like this all day.” “I don’t wanna,” I told him, my face blank. “I _wanna_ sit in my room all day.” “Are you sure…? This is the nicest it will be until spring, probably.” “Yeah.” “Your mom and I both think you should try to get outside a bit more, you know, and you really should.” He sighed and looked around my dirty room, the floor littered with clothes, magazines, books. “And maybe you should try cleaning your room.” “Not in the mood,” I dismissed the idea with a frown and a shrug. “And me and your mom have also been thinking that maybe you should get a job, or maybe join a club in school, or something like that. You should get out of the house more, Elena, and meet some people. Make some friends.” “I don’t want a job.” I sighed at the thought. “And I don’t wanna join a stupid club. And I don’t want to get out of the house more.” “Come on, Elena, at least _try_ something…” Disappointment was prominent in his voice. “You have to do _something_.” “No, I fuckin’ don’t. Leave me the fuck alone, willya, James? Thanks.” I flipped him off as he walked out in silence, shutting the door slowly behind him. That night, at dinner, my mom brought up the topic of a job, or a club, or literally _anything_. “No!” I snapped, scowling at her. “I already said I don’t wanna get a goddamn job! I don’t _need_ to get a job, why the hell would I _want_ one?” “Well, I thought it might be nice for you to get some experience, some work experience, and it could get you out of the house more-” “Oh, Jesus Christ, what’s it with you people wanting me to get outta the house? I’ll just fucking leave if you really don’t want me around so much-” “No, no, Elena, that’s not it,” interrupted James hastily, his mouth a tense line. “We just think it’d be good for you, that’s all.” “Well, I don’t think that.” I crossed my arms and leaned back in my chair, glowering. “And _I_ don’t want that at all.” “Elena, you are _going_ to get a job, okay? You are _going_ to work. Do you understand me?” My mother was fuming, so done with my bullshit. “I’m not gonna!” “Oh, _yes, you are_!” “Fuck you, I’m not doing that!” I jumped out of my chair, dumped my empty plate in the kitchen sink. “_Elena_!” She was at the point of shouting and stood up from her seat. “You will _not_ talk to me like that ever again, do you hear me? And you _will_ get a job!” “Fine! Fuckin’ Fine!” I stalked away to my bedroom, screaming back, “I don’t fucking care!” And then, I collapsed onto my unmade bed with a muffled sniffle, my mind raging. I played my music loud just to piss off my parents, who frequently knocked on my door, to which I replied, “Don’t wanna talk to you!” Unfortunately enough, by the Monday before Valentine’s Day, I was starting my first day at my new job: washing dishes after school at a Tim Horton’s. And even worse, two other kids in my grade worked there, and they wouldn’t stop casting dirty looks in my direction. I trudged home through the snow, in total darkness even though it wasn’t even that late, to my parents enthusiastically asking me how everything was. And the same the next day, and the next day, and the next day, and the next day, even Saturday, but then that Sunday, Valentine’s Day!

“So, this guy…” James began as I methodically ate spoonfuls of cereal that morning. “He’s… Older than you. He lives far away. A musician, with long hair.” “Yeah, so?” I twirled my spoon in between my fingers, rolling my eyes. “Well, Elena…” “Spit it out.” I glared at him, my taste of milk on my tongue suddenly sour. I pushed the bowl of cereal away from me with a sigh. “Is he- well, I’m guessing he isn’t the best influence on you, is he?” “What the fuck is that supposed to mean! Wyatt is a great guy!” I snapped, jerking my head up to look James in the eyes. “To you, he is, sure, but from an adult’s point of view…” “Oh, shut up! You don’t know him at all, don’t fuckin’ stereotype him! Fuckin’ asshole!” I spat out with a scowl, standing up. “Fuck you, man!” “Hey, hey, Elena!” My mom’s voice rang from the bathroom. “Don’t talk to your stepdad like that! And James, don’t stir the pot, okay?” James shook his head and muttered something to himself. I crossed my arms and stormed away to my bedroom, where I did my makeup carefully. And, a few hours later: “Elena!” My mom called from the living room as a knock hit the door. I nearly fell over as I rushed down the hallway, my shoes already on while I shoved my arms into my leather jacket- _Wyatt’s_ leather jacket. I opened the door and rushed outside before we could say _hi_. “God, am I glad to see you.” The air froze a plume of my breath in the cold afternoon air. “Life’s hell!” “Missed you, Layne.” He grinned at me, and we climbed into his car- _Sky’s_ car. As he drove, Wyatt passed a small shoebox to me, which rattled from the inside. He told me, “I got some demos I wanna show you. Put one on.” I smiled as I opened the shoe box, looking at the collection of cassette tapes, with scrawled titles written on the sides. I chose one at random and slipped it into the car’s cassette player, and, suddenly, an acoustic demo was playing through the speakers, something like _Nirvana Unplugged_ meets _Jar Of Flies_. “_Jesus Christ_,” I said in awe. “You’re gonna be famous, you know? This’s great.” “Ya think?” Wyatt was grinning at me like mad, having trouble keeping his eyes on the road. “Yeah! You’re crazy talented, you really are,” I told him sincerely. We drove downtown to a cafe, where we bought coffee and sat discussing everything under the sun that there was to discuss. Topics flew by, quickening the speed of time. Everything was more interesting, everything was easy again. And, all of a sudden, it was dark out, our coffee cups drained, and we laughed over ourselves. _Time flies when you’re having fun._ We ended up back in the parked car, the old heaters blasting with every strength left in them. The console was thrown back, hot mouths together again. “Wait, shit, what time is it?” He asked, leaning away to check his watch. “I gotta go soon. I gotta get back to Sovernon tonight.” “Fuck, I hate that.” I sighed. “I really hate that, you know.” “Yeah, I know.” He frowned and wiped a bit of my lipstick off his mouth. “It’ll be alright, though. I’ll drive you home…” We listened to more of his demos as he drove me home and then, he pulled into the driveway, and leaned over to kiss me goodnight. “Love ya, Layne. See you later.” “Love ya,” I whispered, before sliding out of the car and walking inside, waving profusely as he drove away. I unlocked the door and walked inside, trying to conceal a frown. I walked into the living room, where my parents were half-asleep watching TV, like they typically did on a Sunday night. I stood there for a moment, before I turned and hid back in my bedroom.

I woke up one Thursday morning, looked at the calendar. _Oh,_ I thought, _It’s February twentieth. I forgot about my own birthday._ I hadn’t really forgotten it- my mom was asking what cake she should buy me just a day before- but I hadn’t thought about it much. Sixteen, whoa. “Good morning,” I said to my parents, stumbling out of my room. “Happy birthday,” they greeted me, phony smiles upon their faces. I walked to school in the subzero cold, icy winds assaulting my face. Stomach empty, hands cold. _I fucking hate this bullshit._ __ Every period made me feel emptier and the fact that it was my birthday seemed to only make it worse. Stress made my body ache, while piles of school work hit my already broken body like sacks of bricks, over and over again. Over and over again, the incessant chatter of people I hated all around me, the slams of locker doors, the arrangement of plans, slapping footsteps against the white-tiled floors. Bland gray walls with clocks stared at me through every class, the teacher’s words hitting my ears but not my brain. It was silent up there, too silent, until it became too loud. It was broken, clearly; thoughts that didn’t make sense, overly-emotional feelings that dissipated quickly to be replaced by… Nothingness. It was all empty space until it was too much. During lunch hour, I hid in a bathroom stall, scratching the word _fuck_ into the stall door with a pencil, over and over and over again. Like everyday, the bell went off and two-forty-five. I stalked home wearily, _Frogs_ by Alice In Chains murmuring from my walkman. _What a sucky birthday_, I thought. _What an awful day to turn sixteen._ __ I walked inside. No one home, so I headed straight for the phone. I called Gia, an old friend of mine, and she answered the phone after a long minute of silence. “Hello?” Her familiar voice answered, a voice I hadn’t heard since August. “Hi, Gia. It’s me, Layne… Remember?” “_Layne_! Hi! Now, why haven’t you called me sooner?” She laughed just like she used to and added, “Like, what a bitch!” “Sorry, uh, life’s been crazy,” I said, nostalgia really hitting me. “It’s my birthday, by the way.” “What? Happy birthday! Sweet Sixteen, right?” “Yeah, do you wanna hang out? I was thinking of catching a bus back into town, if you wanted to hang out.” _I have to get away_, I thought, _I need to get away._ __ “Really? Of course, I wanna hang out. I haven’t seen you in _months_. Remember when we’d hang out every single day?” “Yeah, good ol’ days… Well, I’ll see you in about an hour, I guess. Oh,” I added, biting my lip, “Any alcohol? Or any pot?” “Yeah, of course, babe, it’s your _birthday_! We gotta celebrate accordingly. Just come by my place, okay? See ya.” “See ya.” I hung up, grabbed my purse, wallet, keys, and wandered down to the bus station. Same bus station where I’d come back from Peter’s party, same bus station where I’d left for Sovernon. I pulled my jacket’s hood up over my face, staring out the window as the bus began down the highway. It was actually very convenient that I had a job, because I had three week’s worth of wages. I leaned my head against the condensation-covered window. My eyes were empty, and I thought, _this is what it must feel like to be dying._ Soul, vacant; heart, heavy; mind, numb. Nothing ever mattered, anyway. The tuna-scented bus rolled into my good old hometown, but it didn’t spark any joy. Only nostalgia for days long gone, never to be relived again. After stepping off the bus, I trudged through the slushy-snow streets of familiarity, nearly getting hit by a car as I crossed the road to get to Gia’s place. I stopped by the sidewalk in front of her driveway, remembering the time I’d fallen off my bike there, a stray rock cutting deep enough to give me a scar on my knee. A rock seemed to fall into the pit of my stomach then, and hot tears pricked at the edges of my eyes. I brushed the feeling away and the empty-space returned, and I headed up Gia’s driveway to knock on the front door. My friend since forever swung open the door, and she looked the exact same: dark-tinted, tree bark-coloured skin with a gaunt face and head full of brown curls, skinny limbs hidden by baggy clothes, and eyes more blue than mine. Gia pulled me into a hug. “Fucking finally! I missed you.” “I missed you, too.” We headed down the creaky plywood staircase into her large, beige basement- our hang out spot of choice since age eleven. “Hey, can I put on some music?” I asked her, feeling for the CD I’d hastily put in my purse before I left. Of course, I had to show off The Paranoids for my old friend. “Go ahead, yeah.” Gia bent over a red drinks cooler and popped open a bottle. I put on the CD I loved so much, and cracked a smile. “Gia,” I said quietly, “My boyfriend made this.” “Wait, holy shit, what’d you say?” Her bright eyes flew open wide as she flopped down onto the beige couch that was the same shade of beige as the walls and carpet. I ambled over to the cooler and grabbed myself a drink. “My boyfriend made this. He’s a singer.” “Back up a second, your boyfriend? And- a singer? Layne!” Gia was grinning, and let out a manic giggle. “Seriously?” I sat down on the couch, taking a long drink of sweet alcohol. “Yeah, his name’s Wyatt, and yeah, he’s a musician.” “I might have to go over to Pleasant Grove, then!” “Nah, he doesn’t live there…” I sighed. “He lives seven hours south, sadly.” A gasp escaped her mouth. “Seriously?” “Yeah. And, uh, he’s kinda like five years older than me.” Another dramatic gasp. “_Seriously?_ Oh my God, Layne, you’re dating a twenty year old musician who lives seven hours away from you?” “Yeah…” Another gulp of my drink. “Yeah, but I really like him.” “You don’t sound too enthusiastic about that, babe. Are you…. _Sure_?” Her voice rang with something like worry, maybe. “What? Of course I’m sure. I _love_ him.” Defensiveness hit me, and I added cruelly, “You wouldn’t get it, obviously.” “Jesus, okay…” She leaned back, nodding her head to the music. “He’s a pretty good singer, I must admit.” “Yeah, he’s really talented.” I gulped back the rest of my drink in one go, and jumped up for another as the dizziness hit my head like joy. “He doesn’t… Layne, babe, he don’t hurt you, do he? He doesn’t, like, force you to do shit, or anything? He’s a nice guy… Right?” I shot her a cold glare as I sat back down. “He’s the nicest guy in the world, he doesn’t do _any_ of that. He loves me, and if that’s so hard for you to accept-” “Whoa, chill, I was just makin’ sure, ‘cause twenty-year-old musicians ain’t typically dating sixteen-year-olds just ‘cause they like ‘em, right?” My head, which was starting to fill up with bubbly lightness, told me to tell her, “Well, I kinda lied that I was turning _eighteen_, not _sixteen._” “Oh, come on, Layne, that’s just…” “It’s a fuckin’ lie, yeah, but I love him, okay, so shut the fuck up,” I snapped, my frown deepening. “You got the birthday blues, or something?” She asked as she took a sip of her drink, her head still swaying to the music. “No, I’m fine.” “You’re actin’ funny, are you okay? Like, you can talk to me if you-” “No, thanks, I’m fine.” I chugged back more of my drink, the alcohol burning the back of my throat while my body got light and my head got filled with helium and  cherry soda fizz. “Oh, alright.” She began to tell me about everything that was happening around town since I’d left, retelling every detail like she’d kept a written report of things to tell me. Someone got pregnant, some party got too wild, someone got busted, et cetera. It was nice listening to her talk and I realized that I’d been acting like a total bitch to her, for no reason at all. We put on some Nirvana after The Paranoids finished, _Bleach_ was on immediately- Gia’s favorite Nirvana album, of course. Both of us were drunk by the time _Paper Cuts_ blasted out of the stereo like a wave of actual nirvana. We giggled and talked about whatever, I can’t even remember. It felt just like the good old days for a fleeting few moments. Until it took a turn for the worse. Gia and I drank more and more, especially me. Because, well, it was _my birthday._ I was only celebrating, like any sixteen-year-old. The music roared along with our voices, empty bottles collected on the beige table. There was a collection of CDs on the table, I remember that, along with a large pocket knife and an empty tissue box. Everything was shifting before my eyes, nothing could focus, and at one point, I threw up into a beige trash can. Bubbles exploded in my head like fireworks- no more feelings yet no more empty space. Just pure, pleasant bubbles, dizzying my mind. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking and the pocket knife was in my loose fingers- “Wanna… Wanna see somethin’ cool?” Gia giggled, her head bouncing up and down to the screaming music. A scream came out of nowhere, louder than the music, and suddenly- dark, scary blood leaking all over me, all down the left sleeve of my flannel shirt, all down my left hand, and down my fingers, all one, two, three, four of them. My drunken thoughts were too slow. _Wait, four?_ And then Gia was screaming, screaming, “_What’d a fuck? La-a-a-a-ayne, what’s a fuck’s wrong with you?_” And then, “_Hospitall, hospital, you ain’t got that finger on ya!_” Flashing lights, red blood on gray snow. Stop signs flew past, red and green slid all along my vision. More screaming, staggering into a hallway. Bright white light. Bile flowing up my throat, falling out my mouth, more blood. No feelings, no empty space, just a lot of blood.

Blinking lights and too-white walls made my head ache when my eyes finally opened. A throbbing pain in my hand grounded me and made me wonder where I was. I pulled my head up to examine wherever I was: a hospital room, all blue and white and gray. I looked down at my left hand, which had a bandaged index finger. _Oh,_ I remembered. _Oh._ __ Fragments of the night before came back to me slowly as a migraine burned my brains. I shut my eyes for a moment to get rid of the horrible ringing in the back of my head, and when I opened them again, my mom and James were standing over the hospital bed with deep frowns and creases in their foreheads. “What were you thinking?” My mom asked. She didn’t talk loudly, she didn’t talk angrily. Nothing. I flinched at the normal volume of her voice, fireworks behind my eyes when I closed them z “Sorry,” I muttered under my breath, barely loud enough to be heard. “You cut off a finger, drunk, in Gia’s basement, on your birthday. Elena, what’s wrong with you? Why are you doing this?” She sounded on the verge of tears, and I could see overloads of stress heavy on her shoulders. I looked away guiltily, with a frown. “I said sorry,” I repeated, staring blankly at the thick gauze around my reattached index finger, which still ached madly around the joint. My mom shuddered, her eyes puffy. “Oh my God, Elena, oh my God.” James sighed, dropped his hands in his pants pockets. He asked me, “Why did you do it?” “Jesus, you think I know?” I rolled my eyes, which set off fireworks in my head. By five in the afternoon, I was back home, laying on the couch with an intense hangover and a surgically reattached finger. “Dinner,” called my mother sullenly, and I dragged myself into the kitchen. I picked at my salad, uninterested, and stared at the ever-visible marks I’d carved into the table with my fork. James sat down and said, “We need to talk to you.” _Never_ a good sign, _especially_ after a night of drinking and being hospitalized. “Oh, yeah, okay.” I chewed on a bit of lettuce, not making any eye contact. “James and I,” began my mom, drawing out her words slowly, “have found a sort of… Group therapy thing, with other kids your age, kids _like you_, and we think it might be very beneficial to you, you know…” I wasn’t surprised. The subject of some sort of therapy had been brought up during dinner time conversations before. “_Oh_,” was all I said in reply. “Are you willing to _actually_ go?” Asked James, tense. “You have to be willing.” “I don’t care.” I sighed, too hungover and exhausted to argue. _Hell, maybe I really am just crazy_. “I really don’t.” “So, you’re going to cooperate?” I shrugged, frowning. “Okay, I guess.” “Thank you,” my mom smiled, but it was a phony one. I could tell. The small talk of dinner time mostly consisted of my parents discussing their Saturday plans, and work, and their mutual friends. Stuff like that, boring things. That night, I went to bed early but couldn’t get to sleep. I lay awake in my bed for hours, staring at the gauze around my thumb, mulling over the remnants of my memories from the previous night, again and again. It was a pretty cool Sweet Sixteen story, I guess. The longer I lay awake, the more I wanted Wyatt- and Valium. Or pot. Or pretty much anything just to make me sleep. A couple of hot tears ran down my face, and I didn’t even realize it until there was warm, salty water trickling down onto my neck. That Saturday, James drove me to the _group therapy thing_ that was located about fifteen minutes out of town. The thin white building was shoved between a Salvation Army and a Domino’s Pizza, with a sprawling shared parking lot. James walked me inside, told the nearest woman with a clipboard who I was and said that his wife had talked to her on the phone earlier, et cetera. Then, just like that, he drove away, and I was left sitting on a rock hard blue plastic waiting chair. I gazed around the cramped waiting area. Whitewashed walls, grimy linoleum flooring, a line of plastic blue chairs against each wall until they were stopped by various gray doors with metal plaques in their centers. There were only two other people waiting in the plastic chairs: a dark-haired girl my age, very pregnant yet skeletal everywhere, and a pallid, anemic middle school aged guy who had his knees up to his chest and his arms on top of his head, shaking like a leaf in a hurricane. I leaned my head back and stared at the dirty white ceiling until a plump Latina woman called my name and told me to follow her down an ancient metal staircase, which led into a dingy basement with a circle of blue plastic chairs in the middle of it. Cliques of teenagers were hanging around, and they were already much less alienating to me than the kids at Pleasant Grove High School. I stood in a corner until the Latina woman whistled and told everybody to take a seat, which everybody did, rather reluctantly. I sat down in an empty chair between a slightly chubby girl with a split lip and a badly scarred, ginger punk rocker type guy. “Now, everybody,” began the woman, who sat slightly out of the circle. “We have a new face here today, a last minute guest…” I dropped my gaze, knowing that she was clearly talking about me. After a moment of rambling, she said my full name and asked, “Would you like to say something about yourself, Elena?’ I shook my head. “No, thanks.” “That’s just fine.” Then, turned to the guy sitting to her left and said, “Matthew, would you care to start?” Matthew began to mumble about mental health, about drugs, about whatever. After about three minutes, he shrugged and said, “That’s it. I’m okay.” The girl sitting to the left of him began to mumble on for a few minutes, and then the person on the left went, and it went like that, counterclockwise. One or two people said _pass_ and the next person would go. And then, suddenly, my turn. What was I supposed to even talk about? I was silent for a long moment, thinking of what the hell should I say, until the woman prompted softly, “Elena, it’s your turn to share. You don’t have to if you.” I began, very timidly, “I cut off my finger, because I got drunk. On my birthday. That’s why I’m here, I think. I guess. That’s it.” And then went on the slightly chubby girl to my left, talking about diets and her parents for about a minute before she said, “That’s all.” After everyone had said something, the woman stood up and said, “Okay, take your break. I’ll be back in just a moment.” She left the room and everyone stood up, beginning to wander. There were about twenty-five or thirty kids there, all milling around talking amongst themselves. I stood alone until a very thin brunette in flannel came up to me, with a welcoming half-smile, half-scowl, and she said, as if she already knew me, “Hey, Elena.” “Hi,” I smiled, trying to be friendly. “You can call me Layne.” “I’m Demi.” She returned the smile. “You’re new, I guess.” “Yup.” I sighed, my smile fading. “What did you do?” I held up my left hand. “Cut off a finger when I was drunk.” Demi laughed hoarsely. “Man! That’s really not much compared to a lot of other people here. Everyone’s fucked, honestly.” “Well, what did _you_ do?” I asked, eyebrows knit. “Don’t worry about it.” Her mouth returned to that default scowl. “You look cool, though, that’s why I decided to talk to you. Everyone needs a friend in this place, eh?” “Yeah, I guess so…” My eyes drifted to the other teenagers, wondering what they all did to end up where they were. Demi saw me looking at the scarred punk and said, “That’s Kyle. He’s cool.” “What’re all those scars from…?” I asked, morbid curiosity in my mind. Kyle’s entire body was scarred, what I assumed were burn scars, and surgery scars. “He lit himself on fire.” She said it so casually that I thought I’d heard her wrong for a second. “Wait, really?” “Yeah. Sad, but yeah.” “Oh, man…” Sorrow hit my chest. How fucked up was the world, kids lighting themselves on fire? My mind would often wander on that thought. “You live in Pleasant Grove, don’t you? You look familiar.” “Yeah, I do, I moved there in September,” I replied. A happy thought popped up: _a friend in Pleasant Grove?_ It seemed impossible. “Cool, I live there, too. I knew I knew you from somewhere, you’re that girl who went missin’ for a while, right? I remember you, now… We’ve got some classes together, right?” “Oh, yeah. That’s me, I guess…” _That girl who went missing_ made my heart fall once again. Was that really me? I guess it was. Just then, the woman- whose name I’d found out was Mrs. Gable- strode back into the room with a stack of papers, and she whistled and told everyone to sit down. Demi grabbed my forearm and dragged me to sit beside her. Mrs. Gable handed out the papers. All we had to do was write down a paragraph about what we’ve been grateful for this week. I wrote about Wyatt and only Wyatt. What else was there to be grateful for? Nothing.

The next Monday, at school, Demi found me during lunch, where I sat alone in the cafeteria, silently loathing everybody like I did every lunch hour. She sat down across from me and said, “Hey, Layne.” “Oh, hi, Demi.” “You don’t got any friends, either, I guess…” She let out a sigh. “That’s fine, we can just be friends.” “Wait, actually?” My heart popped up in excitement, the thought of a new friend having gotten so foreign to me that it seemed impossible, especially in a place like Pleasant Grove High School. “Yeah, I mean, neither of us have a friend and you’re cooler than all these fuckin’ losers who live around here.” That was the end of our conversation and we ate lunch together in utter silence. But it was nice. The possibility of a friend, who didn’t live hours away? Thank God, I thought I’d’ve died from the isolation. Demi and I sat together during lunch everyday, talking quietly about nothing much. Then, on Saturday, which was the first of March, I saw her again at T.T.T (which stood for Troubled Teens Therapy), and she invited me to a party that would be held on the following Friday. James was waiting in the parking lot for me and I told her that I’d “think about it” because I knew I couldn’t get in any more trouble. That Saturday after therapy, I called Wyatt, and we talked for over an hour, about music, and our lives, and everything. He told me about The Paranoid’s success in gigs and songwriting, I told him about my birthday, therapy, my new friend Demi. Friday came, and, after my parents went to bed at ten, I crept out of the house in my leather jacket, torn jeans, and red lipstick. A bad idea? Maybe. _But_, I thought, _maybe having friends will make it all okay._ Demi’s house was a ten-minute walk away, the chilling night wind biting at my face while I walked. I stuck my hands in the pockets of my jacket, fidgeting my fingers. I knocked on the weathered, white front door in total darkness, but I could hear the bass pounding from inside. I knocked twice, and Demi opened the door, her face scowling as it always was. “Hey, Layne, you made it!” She ushered me inside and into the den, a large, mess-laden room in the basement with a bathroom leading and spare bedroom leading off it. Teenagers- some of whom I recognized from school, and T.T.T- lounged around on various chairs and couches, chugging on mickeys of Absolut Vodka with cigarettes dangling from their mouths. A TV silently played cartoons while a stereo blasted _Hammerbox_. Various drinks coolers lay around, some left open, holding jackpots of every kind of alcohol. “Want a drink?” Demi passed me a bottle of something, before sitting down on the floor near the couch, her boyfriend, Van, beside her. I sat down near her, cross-legged, and began anxiously guzzling down my drink. Me and a blond-haired skater named Tyler struck up a conversation about Kurt Cobain, and we both got drunker by the minute. I giggled like a maniac, held up my left hand to eagerly show off the stitches. “Look! Look, I cut off my finger on my birthday. Isn’t that cool, isn’t it?” “Holy shit!” Tyler burst out in laughter, amazed. “Really? You did that?” “Yeah! Yeah, you bet I did!” Next thing I know, someone brought out a beer bong and sweet alcohol was flowing down my throat. Cheers exploded and then, it was Demi’s turn. She bent over  a trash can and began to vomit afterwards, eyes wild. I was stupid drunk again, and next thing I know, I was sitting on the bed of the spare bedroom with Demi and another girl named Tracy, on codeine. While _Green River_ oozed from the speakers, we sprawled out on the queen-sized bed and talked about nothing important. At about two in the morning, people started to disappear from Demi’s house, filtering out to wilder parties that were happening out of town. I told her, “I gotta get home, man,” and scurried away, throwing up in my neighbor’s trash can on the way. I climbed back in through my open bedroom window, surprisingly not making a sound. I slid the window closed, shivering, and stripped off all my clothing. I pulled on a gray sweatshirt and a pair of underwear, then curled up underneath my covers, exhausted and high out of my mind. I woke up a couple of hours later at around five in the morning, just to stumble into the bathroom to vomit, take some aspirin, then lay awake in my bed for about half an hour, thinking pensively. Codeine had made everything- like, _everything_- go away, and I’d cruised through life, nearly nodding out with sunglasses slipping down my nose. Tracy and Demi and I had talked for over an hour about really nothing, nothing that mattered or made sense. In that moment, I felt empty again. I watched the sun rise up over the horizon, then pulled my blinds shut and drifted back to sleep. The rest of March went similarly, boring except for on Friday nights. On Saturdays, I’d go to T.T.T, which I didn’t mind seeing as I really didn’t have to do anything, and most Fridays I’d sneak out to some party with Demi. Most days, after school, Demi and Tracy and I would sit in Demi’s basement and get stoned and take any pills we could get ahold of through various people from various other towns. All my afternoons were free since I’d quit my job after stitches in the hand made it impossible to wash dishes.  Wyatt had come into Pleasant Grove twice that month, and we spent those days in Pleasant Grove Community Park, talking incessantly to each other, about everything. We could talk about anything. On the first of April, a Tuesday, I was vacantly watching TV in the living room that afternoon. I’d taken a couple Valium on my way home from school, and the time had flown by as I gaped at whatever was on TV. My mom came home early, wearily sat down beside me on the couch. “Layne,” she said, sullen, It took me a long moment to respond, and all I could manage was, “Uh… Yeah?” “Are you on drugs, Elena?” The flat, simple question surprised me so much that I sat bolt upright, dragged my eyes away from the TV, looked at her and stuttered with a one-word exclamation, “_What_?” “Are you?” “No,” I lied, scowling. My eyes returned to the TV, my posture went back to a slouch deep into the cushions. “You’re just paranoid, Mom.” She sighed, rubbing her forehead, and leaned back into the headrest. “I know you are. I know you’re lying to me.” “Why are you always thinkin’ I’m on drugs? I’m not.” _Deny, deny, deny._ __ “Because I know you, and I know what you’re like. And,” she added with a dismal frown, “I know your father.” “I’m not like him.” I kept my glassy eyes fixated on the TV screen. “He’s a total loser. He’s a junkie. Stop being paranoid, Mom.” My mom just looked at me sadly for a moment. “Okay, then.” Later that day, at dinner, she asked me that question again: “Are you on drugs, Elena?” “No,” I lied again, suddenly very interested in my spaghetti. “I know you are, Elena. Just admit it.” She sniffled, wiping her nose. I shook my head, said with a blank expression, “I told you I’m not like him. You’re being fuckin’ paranoid.” James sighed loudly. “Therapy hasn’t done anything for you, has it? You’ve just medicated yourself at this point.” “No, I fucking haven’t. Can you shut up?” I rolled my eyes. “Neither of you know what you’re talking about, man…” “This is pointless,” my mom said to James. “This is so pointless.” “Yeah,” I broke in with a scowl. “‘Cause I’m _not_ on drugs.”

Between Demi, Tracy, Wyatt, Speed, and Gia, I got all the drugs I could ever want. I quickly became self-medicated on a mixture of pharmaceuticals and vodka. Spring break started on April seventh, and at two-forty-five, me and Demi strode out of school together. We began to walk to Demi’s house, the new spring sun beaming down on us. “Van’s got a shit ton of hard alcohol for spring break,” she told me. “We’re gonna party _hard_ this spring break, man!” “Fuck yeah!” I cackled manically, a grin plastered over my ill-tempered face. Demi unlocked the front door of her house; no one was home. She flicked on the lights as we walked in and I kicked my feet up on the coffee table as I crashed into the couch while she headed for the medicine cabinet, which she raided insanely often. She flopped onto the couch beside me with a bottle of Ativan and said, “Go put on some tunes,” so I put on some Nirvana on low volume, then dragged myself back to the couch. We took the Ativan and watched _The Lost Boys_ on VHS, periodically dozing off. I poked Demi’s arm as vampires exploded via holy water on the TV, trying to wake her up. I poked her arm again, but my muscles were melting over my bones like wet clay and I couldn’t use my hands properly. “What’s it?” She snapped, eyes still shut with a scowl on her pink lips. “You know, benzos are way better than pot.” She yawned and then: “That’s it?” “Yeah.” I rolled my head back to vacantly watch the TV, yawning. After a minute: “Can I use your phone, Demi?” “Who you gotta call?” “My boyfriend.” “Go ahead.” She weakly pointed me in the direction of the phone, her eyelids still closed heavily. I swayed over to the phone and fumbled as I tried to dial Underground’s number. After a few re-tries and wrong numbers, I got it right and Kat answered. “Who’s this?” “Uh…” I thought long and hard for a moment. “I’m Layne.” “Oh, hey, Layne.” “Hey, Kat, can I… Can I talk to Wyatt, please?” I giggled for a moment, thinking about how _fucking stupid_ I sounded. “He’s there… Right? Is he? He is…” “Layne, are you drunk, or something? You sound…” She let her voice trail off. “Uh… No…” Technically not a lie, since I hadn’t been drinking at all that day. “Can I talk to my boyfriend… Please, Kat, is he there?” “Yeah, he’s here, but I don’t think-” “Ya don’t think what? I don’t _care_, let me… Let me _talk_ to _him_, Kat…” I groaned in frustration. “I fucking… God, I _hate_ you, let me talk to him.” “One second, okay? He’s, well, he’s been hanging out with Ray.” I waited in silence for a couple minutes until Wyatt’s uneven voice mumbled: “Hey… Hi, hi, Layne, hi.” “Kat didn’t… She didn’t…” My thoughts jumbled for a second as I fell silent, then, I continued: “She didn’t want me to talk to you.” “Oh,” was all he said. “Yeah. I’m at Demi’s right now… You should come back, baby, it’s _spring break_. Spring _break_, you should come back to fuckin’ Pleasant Grove…” “I can’t,” he muttered. His voice sounded off. Slowed, almost backwards sounding. I wondered for a moment if I’d taken so much Ativan that my hearing had gotten damaged, which made no sense. _Maybe_, I thought, _it’s my brain._ __ “Why can’t ya? So, so, you’re such a… Rockstar… That you can’t visit your girlfriend anymore?” I nearly dropped the phone as I spoke, leaning heavily against the wall. “Nah, no, that ain’t it.” “Then… Then… _Why_?” “‘Cause, uh, I’m hangin’ out with Ray. ‘Cause, uh…” “‘Cause what?” He’d stopped midsentence, gone totally quiet. “Wyatt? You…” “Sorry,” he murmured after a long moment of silence. “I’m, uh, well, I’m sorta fucked up right now. Can you call later, please…” “Okay. I’m high, too.” As soon as I replied, he promptly hung up. The anxiety didn’t hit me until hours later, once the Ativan had worn off, as I was walking home in the dark, cool springtime. At the same time, nausea hit my stomach, while my brain whirred with fears. I slipped inside, kicking off my sneakers, limbs shaking violently. “Oh, hi, Elena.” James was in the kitchen in his pajamas, holding a cup of steaming tea. “Glad to see that you’re right on time…” he added, glancing at the kitchen clock, which read exactly eleven p.m. “Hi, dad, do you got any of that tea left? I need tea, or something.” Since I couldn’t exactly ask my stepdad for Valium, I had to settle for something like chamomile tea. And I was so nervous and insane that I hadn’t even realized I’d referred to this guy as _dad_. James looked startled, and then: “Sure, I can make you some tea. Why? Is everything all right?” “Yeah.” I fidgeted madly as I sat down at the kitchen table. “Thanks.” After making me a cup of tea, James sat down across from me, passing me the boiling hot mug of chamomile tea. I tried to down it but it burned my tongue, so I spat it back out and waited for it to cool, while picking at my cuticles. “What’s wrong?” James asked again, his forehead tense. “Nothin’s wrong,” I replied, too fast. “Just want some tea. Just wanna sit and drink some tea with my stepdad.” “You don’t look okay.” “Yeah, that’s right, I gotta make a call.” I jumped out of my seat, headed for the phone, but James grabbed me by the arm and pulled me back down, saying, “_Elena._” “What? Why can’t I make a call?” Suddenly, my heart was going a thousand miles a minute and my lungs begged to hyperventilate. I was _freaking out._ __ “No, I want you to tell me what’s wrong first.” “Nothin’s fucking wrong!” But I was jittering manically, anxious and paranoid. “I just wanna call my boyfriend, okay? Why do you have such a problem with that?” And, suddenly, my mom appeared in the kitchen, rubbing sleep from her eyes in her pajamas, wearily muttering, “Oh, God, what’s going on?” “Nothin’!” I practically screamed. “I just wanna make a fuckin’ call!” “Calm down,” she told me, plopping down into a kitchen chair with exhaustion. “James, what’s going on?” “Something’s wrong with Elena and she’s denying it,” he replied candidly. “No, goddamnit! I just wanted to have some tea with my stepdad and I just wanted to call my boyfriend. Is that such a big fucking deal?” “Elena, something’s very clearly wrong.” My mom spoke slowly, as if I were stupid. “Can you tell us? Please?” “I’m just worried about my boyfriend and I wanna talk to him, okay? And I _wanted_ to have some nice tea with my stepfather, actually.” I shot him a glower while I tried to breathe deeply. _Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale._ __ “Okay, go call him, then.” I rushed to the phone, dialling the number, lightning quick from my memory. After many rings, it went to voicemail. I left a message, saying, “Hey, it’s Layne. Hey, Wyatt, can you please call me? I’m worried about you. Please, call me as soon as you can. Bye…” I sat down at the kitchen table and downed my cup of tea while my parents sat in silence, staring sullenly in my direction. “Please, Elena, _please_, will you just tell us?” My mom’s voice was desperate, pleading. I knew I was driving her crazy, but at that very moment, I didn’t really care, because I was busy driving _myself_ crazy. “Tell you what?” “You _know_ what… Just tell us. We won’t get anyone in trouble, we just… Elena, we really, _really_ need to know.” “Yeah, I’m on drugs.” No expression, no tone of voice. My insides felt totally vacant, hollow. I stood up and began to walk into the bathroom, adding casually. “Goodnight, Mom, goodnight, James.”

I sat down at the kitchen table the next morning with a bowl of cereal, but nausea ate at my stomach and I couldn’t bring myself to eat anything. James left early for work, and my mom sat down beside me. “I’m on the verge of calling your father and telling him that he needs to fucking take you,” she whispered, her face holding the same blank expression as mine. “Why?” I asked, though I knew very well why. “I don’t want to live with that guy.” “I won’t, because that isn’t very fair to you. But… God, you remind me of him too much. You’re too similar.” She looked almost more of a mess than I looked that morning, with crazy, tangled hair and purple-black eye bags. “Sorry,” I muttered, stirring my cereal absentmindedly as the sugary flakes melted into the milk. “Can’t help it, though, it’s genetics.” “Bad choices aren’t genetic.” “Sure, they are.” I sighed, rubbing my forehead with one hand. “Do you have any aspirin? Or something? I’m sick.” My mother didn’t say anything for an endlessly long amount of time. Eons had passed before she asked, so quietly I almost didn’t hear her: “What drugs are you doing, Elena?” “Nothin’ bad.” “Can you tell me exactly _what_, though? Please?” She paused, and then: “I need to know.” “Alcohol, and pot.” I stared at a bit of sugar and carbs and calories drowning in pure white milk, face emotionless. Not thinking, not really feeling, again. “It’s more than that and we both know it.” “Benzodiazephines.” “Oh, dear God.” She looked just about ready to clutch her heart and faint. “Oh, God, Elena. Those are so terrible…” “Not really.” I jumped up and headed to my bedroom. I heard her sigh shakily as I slammed the door shut. As soon as my mom left for work, I made a bee-line to the phone. No messages. The worry kicked up again, so I called Underground, although I knew that no one would answer since it was about eight in the morning, and no one would be totally awake before ten. I left another message and then called Tracy, but she didn’t answer. So, I searched the medicine cabinet thoroughly for anything, but my search came up fruitless. I’d taken the last of the Valium that Wyatt had given me the night before, just to get to sleep, since I’d taken on the circadian rhythm of an insomniac. Frantically, I dug through every drawer in the house. I called Underground again, and then Demi, and then Speed, but no one would answer their goddamn phones. Around nine, I curled up in bed, with my blanket over my head, and tried desperately to be able to sleep. I ended up passing out while I listened to _Mad Season._ __ “Elena!” I heard my mom holler, too early in the morning, from the living room. I guess I’d slept all day and all night, woke up early the next day. I rubbed my eyes, just barely awake, and staggered into the living room, still in my pajamas. “_What_?” “Phone. Wyatt called you.” “Oh.” I wandered over to the phone and picked it up, dialling the number sleepily. “Hey, Layne, sorry I was so fucked when you called the other day, I was just hangin’ out with Ray, you know?” “Oh, yeah…” I remembered the whirlwind of anxiety, not so fondly. “I was fucked, too, it doesn’t matter.” “Yeah, and, sorry, I can’t come to Pleasant Grove at the moment. Busy workin’, you know? I wish I could, man, but…” “Oh, man.” My heart felt like breaking; I missed him. “That sucks, but… At least you’ve got work, right? Music.” “Yeah, yeah, it’s going great. Hopefully, hopefully I’ll get a chance to see ya soon.” “Yeah… Hopefully,” I murmured, trying to smile. “Hey, listen, me and the guys are writin’ an album. I dunno when it’s gonna be a real thing but when it is, I’m gonna mail it to you. Or, hopefully, give it to you in person, right?” “Oh, really?” I forced the enthusiasm in my voice, but it was there in my heart. “You’re gonna be a rockstar!” “Yeah, and if all goes well then we might do this tour thing around Canada. Susan says we’re gonna be the next big thing or whatever.” “Who’s Susan?” I asked, but I was still smiling. A tour sounded big, and fantastic. _Imagine,_ I thought fondly, _imagine dating a rockstar?_ __ “Oh, she’s our manager. She’s cool, you’d like her. She’s really rootin’ for our stuff, you know.” “Cool, that’s cool.” We talked for a while about music, about the band and all that. Then, someone else at Underground had to use the phone, so we said goodbye and he hung up. I began stumbling back to my room, when my mom said, “Elena?” “Yeah?” I turned to face her, pulling the blonde curls from my tired eyes. “Are you alright?” “Huh, yeah.” I hurried back to my room, but couldn’t get back to sleep after too many hours of laying in bed, as the sun shone in through the blinds.

I nearly screamed as I jumped awake, startled. Drool was falling down my lip, my eyes were sleepy. Demi had hit me on the head to wake me up, after I’d nodded off on her bedroom floor one warm April afternoon. “Man, you sleep too much,” she told me, lighting a cigarette. She offered me one, I thanked her. Somewhere along the line, I’d started smoking. “Yeah, I know.” I yawned, then exhaled clouds of smoke in my next breath. “Wanna go drinking with Van and Tyler later?” She asked, leaning her head against the blue wallpapered wall. “Maybe,” I replied, running a hand through my greasy hair. “Probably.” “Is Wyatt gonna come over here soon? Man, I wanna meet this guy…” She gave a halfhearted laugh, her face permanently scowling. “Nah… He’s really busy, workin’ and all.” “Must be crazy being a musician… Must be pretty crazy.” She stared at the dark ceiling, smoking, and then added, “He’s making an album?” I nodded, saying, “Yeah.” We ended up nodding out until the benzos wore off, and Demi called Van. He told us to meet him at the park, so, as the sun began to set, we began to walk downtown to Pleasant Grove Community Park, where Van and Tyler sat on a bench with bottles of would-be Sprite. Tyler passed the plastic soda bottle to me as I sat down on the bench, lighting a cigarette quietly, while Van talked about someone doing something or other, the usual gossip. I took a large swig from the Sprite bottle, which held a lovely combination of bubbly soda and nail-polish tasting alcohol. As it got darker, we got drunker, louder, more alive. The four of us began stumbling down the streets, wobbling and drunk, at nearly eleven at night. We stopped by a bar, which refused us service since we looked like alcoholic toddlers, and the bartender threatened to call the police as we bolted like a herd of wild stallions out of the bar, giggling manically and in unison. A cop car rolled past, too slowly, the driver, a mustache’d white guy, stared at us with knit eyebrows. I desperately wanted to flip him off, but didn’t, because, even though I was drunk, I was smarter than that.  And then- _bam!_ We were clambering over a barbed wire fence in a field just outside of town, and Van had a wildly screeching hen under his arm. I fell over, Demi grabbed my arm, nearly pulling it out of its socket as she pulled me to my feet. I couldn’t feel anything, and my legs didn’t exist. Floating. “The fuck’s a _chicken_ doin’ here?” Tyler panted as we stood on the edge of the highway, exhausted from sprinting across that field. “Shit- _what_?” “Fuckin’ dumbass!” Van whacked him on the side of the head. “We’s just got ourselves a chicken, man!” “We stole a _bird_?” “Yeah!” Demi and I burst into insane laughter together, our arms holding each other upright. “_Fuck_!” Van suddenly screeched, as the bird pecked frantically at his bare arms. “Fuckin’ dumb bird! Fuck you!” “Was _your_ idea to steal a bird, yeah?” Demi commented, glowering at the hen. “I dunno.” Van tossed the poor, disoriented hen onto the highway, where it flapped to its feet and promptly got hit by a semitruck, whose driver didn’t notice us nor the chicken. The four of us stared at the bloody, feather spot the hen had just been, then started walking back into town, shivering in the midnight chill. It was about one in the morning when we got to Demi’s house, where we sat together on the couch, smoking cigarettes and discussing nonsense drunkly. “Demi, got any Valium? Or Ativan? Or anything?” I asked anxiously, kicking my feet like a child on a swingset. “You fuckin’ fiend! Yeah, there’s Valium in the bathroom… It’s my ma’s, though, don’t take a lot, please…” “Thank you, thanks so much.” I scurried to the bathroom, and groped for the lightswitch in the dark. After too many wrong tries, I got it and blinding light flooded the small bathroom. I took a few of those damn blue pills and lurched back into Demi’s living room. When I sat back down, Demi was sitting there, chugging from a bottle of cough syrup, and then she passed it to Van, who tossed aside the empty bottle into a pile of stinking trash bags that sat dismally in the corner. Cartoons numbed our minds from the bright TV screen, and I quickly dozed off for a minute, until Demi pinched me and whispered, “Wake the _fuck_ up.” “Oh, God, where am I…” I looked around Demi’s dark living room, disoriented, dizzy. “Fuck, what’s the time?” “I don’t fuckin’ know.” “I’m gonna head home,” I muttered, weary. I had mystery bruises all over my knees from doing _something_ and the Valium flooded my system, pleading sleep. I walked home alone, in the dark, while I was tipsy and high, but lucky for me, Pleasant Grove had a very low crime rate and I staggered inside unscathed. I guess my parents had gone to bed earlier, not bothering to wait up anxiously, knowing me. I couldn’t even be bothered to brush my teeth, and crashed into my bed, fully clothed. Instantly, everything went dark.

I looked down at my arms, horrified. Long fingernail scratches ran down my forearms, slightly bloody, from where I’d scratched in my sleep. I gaped at the long whips of pinkish red down my arms, for a very long time. Too long. I got up, put on a baggy, long-sleeved striped shirt, and cut my fingernails short. When I shuffled into the kitchen, both my parents were sitting at the kitchen table, almost expectantly. “Good morning,” I said, hollowly, and sat down at the table with them. “You didn’t come home last night.” It was a bland statement that fell from my mom’s lips and hit me in the face, which was too numbed by drugs and stress to care much. “Yeah,” I blatantly replied, then, so as not to be callous, I added, “I’m sorry.” “What were you doing? Were you snorting cocaine in somebody’s bathroom at a party? Were you smoking crack in an alley with a creep? Were you… You could’ve been doing _anything_, Elena, you had us worried sick!” She dropped her head in her hands, unable to continue. “Why? Why? Why?” James rubbed her back softly and continued, “You have to understand why we’re worried about you… Elena, you’re an a-” “Oh, shut up!” I exploded, my mouth twisting into an ugly snarl. “I wasn’t fuckin’ smokin’ crack! I got drunk and stole a fuckin’ chicken from some dumb farm! Okay? _Okay_?” I could hear my mom sob under her breath, face covered by her hands, as James intellectually went on, “You’re clearly _disturbed_ somehow, and your mother and I-” “_Disturbed_?” My jaw fell, eyes narrowing. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Yeah, I’m a little fucked up but you’ve got _no_ right to call me fuckin’ _crazy_- fuck, man, I’m not even _your_ daughter! Go fuck yourself!” James sighed, defeated, and stared at me for a moment. I said nothing. My mom lifted her head, her pretty blue eyes tearful. She whispered, almost inaudible, “James, can I talk to my daughter alone for a moment, please?” “Of course.” He kissed her on the cheek and walked out into the back yard through the kitchen door. My mom, broken, looked at me and calmly said, “James just wants to help you. He isn’t trying to call you crazy, I promise.” “He can still go fuck himself.” “Our marriage is…” She paused, searching for the right word that meant _not going well._ She finished with, “_Strained_.” “Because of me.” All the anger had drained out of me. How could I be angry? I’d killed my own mother’s soul, ruined her second marriage, constantly reminded her of her ex-husband who had destroyed our lives when I was a baby. “Yes.” “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… _Really_,” I added sincerely, frowning. My mom sighed. “I’m sure you weren’t thinking about our marriage much in your troubles.” “Sorry for staying out all night. I shouldn’t’ve. I know that.” A pit was forming in my stomach, the scratches along my arms ached. Dizziness hit my head, nausea to my stomach like a club. Anxiety. “Well, I appreciate your apology, but you’re grounded until you go back to school.” She frowned deeply, and added, “And, oh, God, don’t run away ever again. Please.”  “Okay… Uh, school starts next Monday. You’re really only grounding me for a week?” I felt kind of surprised, but I could totally handle a week-long punishment. “Yes, but you have to quit drinking, smoking, and drugs.” “_Oh_.” Thoughts raced through my head, the anxiety instantly boiling my stomach acids and frying my brain cells. How would I get through school without my precious pills? How would I sleep without my Valium? How would I relax without Ativan and cough syrup? How would I let loose and have fun without any alcohol? “Can you do that, Elena?” I could barely hear her over my speeding mind. All I could reply was, “I feel sick,” And then, I added in a mumble, “Uh, maybe.” “Sick? What’s wrong?” “Nothin’, I’m fine…” I lied with a grimace. “Just kinda hungover.” “Are you sure? You look a little sick…” “Nah, just kinda hungover…” “Okay, Elena, are you going to quit?” She forced a very phony-looking smile, hope shining in her eyes. “For me, if not for anything else?” “Yeah, okay.” _No, no, no. I can’t._ __ “And you’re going to get a job,” she added hastily. “Sure.” _Fucking working, fucking working…_ __ “As long as you stay sober, and go to school and work, you can hang out with your friends as much as you’d like. That’s fine with me.” My mother was beaming then, so happy that I’d be _clean_, straight edge and intelligent. _Clean, clean, clean_. The word spun around my head, dizzying. _Does that make me dirty?_ I wondered, sick with anxiety and nausea. James promptly crept back inside, muttering, “Everything alright in here?” “Yes, everything is straightened out now.”

The next three days made me feel more dirty rather than clean. Working five days a week in a stupid corner store, sick and anxious all the time. Nicotine cravings, scratching in my sleep. Dizzy, vomiting, insomniac, afraid: _“clean.”_ __ “Do you want to go see a doctor or something?” My mother fretted over my physical state madly, took the week off work to make sure I never left the house, except for when I went to work. “Oh, God, please.” Doctors, pharmacies? Yes. Yes, please. My mom told me she’d set up an appointment, and I watched whatever was on TV in my _clean_ hell. Because why live in a _dirty_ heaven when you can burn in hell, but at least you won’t be drugged? What a scam. The sickness was drawn out painfully to the date of my doctor’s appointment the day before school started back again, and my mom drove me there, insisting that James came along, too, for some reason. The doctor, a balding old man named Dr. Mann, asked questions, and I answered. In my mind, I was begging him to prescribe me Ativan, Valium, Librium- _anything._  Dr. Mann pulled my parents aside and talked with them in hushed tones for a moment. My mother looked about ready to burst out in tears, nodding profusely. Then, he said that he couldn’t prescribe me anything due to “_my history_” and said something about “waiting it out,” and that absolutely enraged me. “What the _fuck_?” I snapped, crossing my arms over my chest like an angry child. “I’m _sick_- Mom, you know how sick I’ve been? I’m _sick_, I’m _dying_, and you won’t give me _anything_ at all to make me better? What kind of doctor are you? What the fuck is wrong with you, you fucking lunatic? I’m a fucking _sick kid_, why won’t you fucking give me the… Why won’t you fucking give me the fucking… Jesus Christ! Are you _sick in the head_, Dr. Mann? Is that what it is? What’s _wrong with you_!” I was on a screaming rant, flailing my arms around in the air, totally unaware of anything going on around me, or anyone else. “Elena! Calm down-” Began my mother, desperate, but I was on a roll. “You fucking sick doctor! They should take away your fucking license! What the fuck is wrong with you, sicko? You wanna see a sick kid fucking _die_? Fuck you! _Fuck you_! Why won’t you gimme the fucking drugs? Fuck you, Dr. Mann, and your stupid fucking bald head! _Fuck you_!” My mom grabbed my arm, yanked me off the stupid plastic chair I was sitting on, and snapped: “Shut up, Elena. You can’t talk to a doctor like that. We’re going home. Now.” We drove home in silence, stars spinning around my livid mind dizzyingly. My mind was obsessing over the circle of rage over that doctor. _Fuck him, fuck him!_  I thought madly, insanely. _If he wants to lose his fucking medical license, let him! I don’t give a shit, he’s just some stupid sicko, anyway!_ __ I stormed into my bedroom as soon as we got home, tried to make myself sleep. But I couldn’t, and I lay awake staring at my ceiling in my dim-lighted room, which I still needed to clean. My mom walked in without knocking, flicking on the light. She asked coldly, “Is all your stuff ready for school tomorrow?” “Yeah. Can I go out tomorrow, after school?” “After work, yes.” “Okay.” “Dinner’s ready.” The three of us sat quietly at the table, picking at our plates with little appetite Then, all of a sudden, James spoke up. “What you did today was unacceptable, Elena. You shouldn’t be allowed to get away with that.” “James-” began my mother, but I interrupted, stating with a bland, intellectual tone: “That doctor was crazy. He shouldn’t be allowed to work.” “He was just doing his job. You had no right to throw a tantrum like a child. You’re _sixteen_.” “James,” said my mom, again. “Just let it go. She’s just sick.” “And _why_ is she sick? Because she’s a fucking addict, that’s why!” Both me and my mom let out a gasp. “How _dare_ you say that!” I was more shocked than angry. How could he say that? How could he blatantly lie? And _why_, why would he say it? Tears stung in the whites of my eyes. “That’s _not_ true at all, you just think I’m gonna be like my _real_ dad- who you don’t even _know_, by the way!” James promptly threw his hands up in the air and stood up from the table. “I’m done with all this. I quit.” And he stormed out of the house. My mom broke down in tears. Stress raced through my head like race horses galloping around a track. I muttered under my breath, “I’m sorry.” “Oh, it’s not your fault, it’s not your fault…” “Are you getting divorced, Mom?” I asked, glum. “No, no, we aren’t. We’re gonna fix it, I promise, okay?” She wiped tears from her face which was almost as pallid as my own. “Okay…” I sighed. “I’m sorry, again, Mom.”