Pusher

seventeen.

I wasn't sure quite how long Raven and I laid on the couch together.

Long enough for people to start staring. Long enough for people to start whispering. Long enough for her heavy breaths to even out into the slow rhythm of sleep. I didn't mind so much. For the first time at this party, I was relaxed.

Ellie had wandered in about fifteen minutes earlier. As soon as she saw me, she wandered back out with the same ugly line carved into her face as the boy in the red ball cap. I was so tired, I couldn't be bothered to care.

My phone chimed, and I was careful not to rustle my body too much as I snaked one hand into my back pocket to tug it out. It was from Ellie. The message was written in short, clipped sentences that informed me of a boy named Freddy waiting for me at the bottom of the basement steps. She told me to bring a few grams with me.

I debated moving, perfectly content on the amazingly uncomfortable couch. But the idea of me coming to this party was to make money and I had hardly put any effort into selling all night. Ellie had done all the work. I owed it to her to follow this through.

I couldn't leave Raven passed out on the couch amidst a sea of half-drunk teenagers, not in good conscience at least, so I shook her shoulders to wake her up. She was groggy, rubbing her eyes with her knuckles, but I figured that was good enough.

I slipped through the kitchen and wandered until I found the right door to the stairs. The light from the hall streamed over the steps and the boy's phone glowed across his face, but other than that, it was pitch black.

"Sorry about the meeting place," he said as the stairs creaked under my feet, "I just didn't want Maverick to see us."

"It was smart," I said, and then fished out the pre-proportioned bags of pot I stashed in my purse.

Freddy was a year younger than me by the looks of it, but it was hard to tell in the low light. The yellow glow from atop the stairs cast strange shadows against the side of his face. He was stocky, awkward in his movements, and stood too close.

He tried to haggle with me on the price, but I stood firm on my standard rate and soon I had a pile of creased bills in my palm. I stuffed them into my purse, ready to get out of this stuffy stairwell.

The top of the landing creaked and the boys' eyes shot up over my head. He went stiff, his outstretched hand still holding the weed I had just sold him. I risked glancing over my shoulder.

Maverick descended the stairs slightly off-balanced. His fingers slid along the rail for support and he stopped just short of the last step.

He shot his steely gaze into the boy and jerked his head to the side. "Go."

Freddy didn't waste any time pushing past me and scrambling up the stairs. A cold feeling seeped into my bones as I was left alone with the one person in the world who might actually hate me.

But I couldn't be angry at Freddy. I would have done the same.

Maverick leaned towards me, his hands taking the familiar position on either side of my head, blocking me in from either side.

"Is it true they're calling you the Virgin Mary Jane now?" he asked me. His tone was playful, but I didn't trust the liquor on his breath.

"God, I hope not. It sounds like something you would come up with." I pushed for a casual tone. Steely, relaxed, and controlled. I didn't even realize at the time I was emulating him.

He cracked a dark smile, a hollow laugh passing through his lips. The sound shuddered through me and I shrunk a half step back, my lower back digging into the stair railing.