Pusher

forty-four.

Harlow's fat fingers pushed against the tip of his black pen, sliding it into a near perfect line with all the others. I stared blankly, trying to keep the world in focus, but it was crumbling piece by piece. One moment I was here in my principal's office underneath the flickering florescent lights and the heavy gaze of the police officer who sat beside him, and the next I was falling through a storm of memories. The faces of my friends flashed behind my eyes, just like one of those flipbooks Miles and I used to make when we were kids.

My principle huffed out a heavy breath. I kept my gaze on the line of pens. For a moment I thought he might finally speak, but instead he fixed the alignment of his stapler. The officer beside him shifted in his seat, impatient.

The air was heavy, their judgment simmering through the room and clinging to the walls like condensation. Screw them.

"Angelica, we have evidence you've been involved with drugs," Harlow said. The declaration didn't shock me by any means. I saw this coming as soon as I was called down to the office this morning. I made no answer, just continued staring at his neat row of office supplies.

Basket of paper clips, sticky notes, chipped ceramic apple, framed portrait of his wife and kids. Picture perfect family. Picture perfect life. What a joke that was.

Another heavy sigh came from Harlow and he turned his computer screen towards me. A crudely shot video began to play. Half the lens was blocked, probably by the corner of a wall, but Maverick and I were in frame. His back was to the camera but the dark, messy hair and tall stature were clearly his despite the grainy footage.

He handed me a bag of weed and I handed over a wad of cash. He pressed a quick kiss on my cheek and the video stopped.

I said nothing.

Harlow cleared his throat then spoke in his usual slow and condescending tone. "Given your academic achievements and taking into account of this being your first offense, the school is willing to work with you. You'll receive a suspension of course, per our policy, but we want to make sure you're able to return onto the right path. All you have to do is confirm for us that Maverick Weir was the one in the video with you."

I could have laughed out loud. They had no idea I was just as guilty of dealing as Mav was. Who would have guessed? Of course goody-two-shoes Angelica gets off with a slap on the wrist while Maverick is facing — what? Criminal charges? This whole place was disgusting.

The principle realigned the already perfect row of pens, fingers fidgeting. I watched.

The officer leaned forward, making his presence known. He spoke for the first time to me. "We can get any number of Maverick's other buyers to come forward and identify him. You're simply making the process faster. Do yourself a favor and just get this over with. You're not protecting anyone by staying silent."

I could hardly focus on his voice. I stared at the flickering lights, blinking back tears. My lips pressed together as the first slid down my cheek. I didn't even have to hesitate.

My voice was hardly above a whisper, "Yeah, that's Maverick."

I blinked and I was in the waiting room, body rigid on the stiff chair. Each tap of the keyboard from the secretary rattled through the air like thunder. I watched as Raven pressed her palms to the window, her laugh fogging the surface. Steely gray eyes, a cruel curve of the mouth, and all I could think about was that night she laid across my lap after one too many drinks and wondered how we ever got to this point.

I blinked and I was in the passenger seat. Baby blue nurse scrubs peeked out beneath her jacket, a faint stain along the neckline. Her hair was thrown up, messy makeup smudged around her eyes and I wondered how someone so beautiful, so full of light, could wear a scowl so ugly. White knuckles wrapped around the steering wheel, foot always too heavy on the brakes. We passed houses and street signs and park benches but no words between us.

I blinked and I was in the kitchen, chewing over unspoken words and swallowing down guilt. Her words came by the plateful, worsening the hollow feeling in my gut. if you're having problems you could have come to me, you know that don't you? and i should have known you've been acting so unlike yourself and those new friends and you're so distant these days and is this why ellie is never around anymore?

I couldn't apologize. Maybe it would have been different if she knew what I was apologizing for, but even now as I sat in front of her she was as blind as ever. She thought I was some troubled youth acting out in all the wrong ways, screaming for someone to pay attention to me, turning to drugs to cope with adolescent bullshit. She couldn't see what was really happening. That there was this awful hole in my chest and instead of stopping the bleeding I just stained my hands red.

"I don't smoke it," I said in a hollow voice. The shock cracked into her expression and stopped her rambling long enough for me to speak, her watery eyes cutting into me as I did. My tongue was sandpaper, but I knew I had to get this out.

"I only sell it. Me and that other boy they caught. It's where I've been getting all that money from."

I blinked and we were screaming.

I blinked and I was sniffling, stranded on my aunt's porch, cheeks stained with tears.

I blinked and the chains of the swing set burned cold against the palms of my hands. Toes dug into the wood chips, wind creeping down the collar of my shirt, tears curling around the underside of my chin. This vessel of childhood memories had become my last stand, a fortress of all that I could never get back. Not for the first time, I imagined peeling back the years and falling into a time when these chains weren't rusty and this crack in my chest was smoothed over with innocence.

I blinked.

I blinked.

I blinked.

I closed my eyes and waited for a sleep that would never come.