Breaking Bailey Page 14

  I have a C in English. I honestly don’t know how it happened. I’ve done all my work, on time, and I’ve made sure to meet all the requirements for each assignment. But my teacher says that my essays are meandering at best and nonsensical at worst. (Whatever that means. Honestly, I thought the last two flowed pretty well. I was typing like a madwoman.) I explained that for some reason, English and I don’t get along, and her reply was basically that I need to figure out how to get along with English because no school is going to take someone who can’t write an entrance essay. And she wasn’t even talking just Ivy Leagues.

  Plus, a C at Prescott is failing. Literally. In any other school, a C would be average, right? Passable at least. Not at Prescott. You have to repeat the class if you get a C. I’m not sure if Dad and Isa know about that policy or not, but can you imagine if I had to repeat a class? All that money down the drain. My teacher says I can bring it up if I do stellar work the rest of the quarter, and I suppose I can.

  The thing is, I can probably sacrifice some time on chemistry assignments and even calculus. Maybe even not do some of the work in those classes, period, because I can ace the tests no problem. So I can devote that time to English instead and . . . I’ll have to ask for Katy’s help. Maybe even Emily’s.

  When I got to the lab tonight, I smiled and laughed and pretended like everything was fine. I think it worked. Warren seemed happy too and kept his arm around me pretty much the whole time. While he and I worked, Katy booked our flights and transportation. So it’s official! I’ll be spending spring break with the coolest people I know, including my boyfriend, who will see me looking hot in a gold bikini. That was the single good thing about today.

  I just have to survive this quarter, I just have to survive this quarter, I just have to survive this quarter . . .

  March 31

  So here’s a small bit of good news: Prescott grades don’t get sent home in the mail. They’re all available online, through the student or parent portal. I assumed Dad and Isa were getting my grades at home but they’re not. And they’re not even logging in to see my grades or Dad would have called, angry. I can’t believe I didn’t realize this until now.

  So they don’t know I’m not doing great.

  But they also haven’t even been checking?

  Okay, but let’s look at the silver lining here and just be happy for now. Maybe by the time they think to check, my grades will be back up.

  April 1

  I walked into the lab tonight. I must have been pretty quiet because Warren didn’t hear me. When I came in he was bent over one of our tables, and I saw him snort up white powder.

  I absolutely freaked. The only time I’ve EVER seen anyone snort something is in movies where they’re all using cocaine, using rolled-up money on a mirror. So I naturally flipped out on him. Not only for doing cocaine, but for lying to me. Keeping it from me.

  And as I was freaking out, demanding to know what the hell he was doing and how long he’d been doing it and why he was keeping it from me, he grabbed my wrists hard enough to bruise.

  Warren: Bailey. Bailey! Listen to me. It’s not coke. Calm down. It’s not coke.

  Me: Then what the hell?

  Warren, pulling me to him: Just the Percocets, baby. Just Percocets. It’s okay. I wouldn’t do coke. Okay? And I wouldn’t keep it from you if I was.

  Me: Wait, so if it’s Percocet . . .

  Warren: I crushed it up. I just . . . needed one. Faster. It takes effect faster this way.

  Me: But isn’t it more dangerous?

  Warren: No, it’s not going to hurt me any more than . . .

  Me: Than taking it as a pill?

  Warren: Right. I’m sorry. I really am. That had to have spooked you.

  Me: I mean, I guess I thought when you told me the other day that you could stop, and gave me what you had . . . I thought you’d actually stop.

  Warren pulled back a little and wiped at his nose. His hand, I noticed, was shaking again, and something about seeing him shake like that made me realize how on edge he was. How possibly out of control. And it broke my heart and made me all the more worried for him. I decided not to badger him about it, and tucked the worry down deep inside. I didn’t want to be another source of stress for him.

  Warren: I can. Of course I can. I just thought it was okay, after you told me the other night that I could take one.

  Me: Of course it’s okay. I didn’t mean to imply that you have to have my permission or something. I’m not Emily, right?

  Warren, smiling: Right. Thanks, baby. I love you, you know that?

  Me: I love you too.

  We got to work after a few minutes of kissing. I could literally feel Warren relaxing into my arms, the Percocet taking effect. After that his smiles came easier. There was a little dullness in his eyes, but the sharp, panicked look was gone, so that was good. At least I think it’s good. Is it really Warren, though, if the smiles come so easily?

  We worked almost completely in silence for a while; the only sounds around us were those of the process, and sometimes some sweet humming coming from Warren’s direction. Then he got really still, and I looked at him, thinking he needed an extra hand with what he was doing. But no, he was staring at me, smiling bigger than I’d ever seen him smile.

  Warren: You are gorgeous, you know that?

  Me: Stop it, you big liar.

  Warren: You are!

  Me: I’m nothing compared to Katy Ashford or most of the girls at this school.

  Warren: You’re the liar now. Katy has nothing on you. And you look especially beautiful tonight.

  Me: I think that’s the Percocet talking.

  Warren: Nope. Just a guy in love.

  Me: Well, I have lost a little weight.

  Warren, sliding his arms around me: Yeah, I can feel that. But that’s not it, although you look great. I really think it’s because I know you have my back. You worry about me. And I know I get upset sometimes about that, but . . . I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone worry about me like that before.

  Me: I’m sure your mom—

  Warren: No. Not my mom. Trust me. And definitely not my dad.

  He put his head on my shoulder, and I don’t think he was crying, but I think he was definitely trying not to. I held him really close, just like I had the night he told me about Mitchell dying and losing his parents, in a way.

  Me: I do care about you. And I’m sorry I sometimes let that make me into a jealous idiot. But, Warren, are you really okay? You are sorta worrying me tonight. Is something wrong?

  Warren, letting me hold him: Honestly, yeah. I, um . . . well, two things. My dad actually called. He said Mom is going to go to a different facility and wanted to let me know. And he wanted to make sure I wasn’t coming home for spring break. You know, the usual “Please don’t come home, we’d rather not see you” crap.

  Me, with a bitter snort: I know exactly how that feels. What was the second thing?

  Warren: Well, I have a C in English. Probably because I don’t go most of the time.

  I busted out laughing, half crying with relief that someone else (and Warren of all people!) was in the same boat as me, and also with relief that neither thing was very serious. With what Warren’s into, with what we’re ALL into, it could have been really bad.

  Confused, Warren looked at me as I laughed until I was full-out sobbing.

  Warren: Okay, now I’M worried.

  Me: No. Don’t be. I have a C in English too.

  We both burst out laughing then, and we held each other some more and talked about ways to pull our grades up, and we ended up actually scheduling out time for ourselves to do English homework together (at the expense of some making out and possibly some time with Drew and Katy, but not at the expense of the work in the lab).

  So . . . in a weird way, this is good. I’m not alone in this. And he’s going to be just as supportive to me as I’m trying to be with him. He loves me, I love him, and we will both work together to get our grades up.
Everything is fine. I HAVE to believe that.

  April 3

  I can’t believe it. It snowed again yesterday, a LOT. It’s like we were all expecting spring, thinking warm thoughts (and beach vacation thoughts), and bam! Mother Nature threw us a curveball.

  We went sledding again but we didn’t stay long. We went pretty quickly over to the bonfire again; the boys seemed way more interested in that. Almost immediately, they went off to talk to a group of kids I only kind of know. I saw Warren hand one of the boys something, just as another boy handed Drew a wad of cash. The boys took off, going deeper into the woods, and Drew and Warren bent their heads together, talking.

  I knew what it was, what had just happened. I wasn’t stupid. I’d seen it go down just a few weeks ago in the Wiltshire slums, but I hadn’t ever seen it at Prescott. That was new.

  No one had spiked hot chocolate this time. I’m guessing no one was prepared for this snow. But Katy came prepared. She drew a silver flask out of her coat pocket and we shared the strong-tasting stuff in it. I didn’t ask how she’d acquired it. I’m getting really used to not asking questions.

  Katy seemed pretty intent on asking me questions, anyway. She asked how much Adderall I’d taken that day. I honestly didn’t remember. It was such a good day. I told her three, maybe. Three usually did it for me now. She told me to be careful drinking while I had Adderall in my system. She said sometimes it makes it harder to feel the alcohol so it’s easy to have too much. I noted that but took her flask every time she offered it anyway. She perked up when Drew looked like he was coming in our direction, but he was only going to talk to someone close by us. Katy nearly deflated.

  Me: You’ve got it bad.

  Katy: Hello, Pot, I’m Kettle.

  Me: Shuddup. So why don’t you let it be more with him? I think he wants it. For sure.

  Katy: No. I can’t.

  Me: Why? Is he not good enough for you?

  Katy, snickering: No, darling. I’m not good enough for him. Just like Warren isn’t good enough for you.

  Me: Why would you say that? Warren’s good enough for me. Why don’t you like him? Honestly?

  Katy: Oh, I adore Warren. When he’s not being an asshole. But you’re far sweeter than him. Nicer. Probably even smarter. But Warren has to have everything just so, doesn’t he? His way. That way he can always be ahead of every situation. Always a step ahead. Always in control.

  Me: I don’t think he’s controlling. Meticulous, maybe. Precise and methodical, more like.

  Katy: Those things too. You know it was his idea to film collateral.

  I didn’t know that. I’d assumed it was Drew who thought to do that, and I honestly hadn’t thought about the collateral since just about the day we filmed it. Most likely because it wasn’t ever something I’d have to think about again. I trusted them. They trusted me. At least, that had been the premise.

  I looked over at Warren. He was smiling, and I think he must have said something funny because the people around him laughed. He seemed calm, happy, even animated, and I had to wonder sardonically what chemical I had to thank for that.

  I don’t remember how I got home, but apparently I set my alarm. I got up when it went off, called myself in sick for the day, and went back to sleep. I mean, at this point, what does it matter?

  April 5

  The shine has definitely worn off the winter, literally and figuratively. Any snow we have left has turned into gray slush all around campus, and I’m now tired of wearing my boots instead of my cute flats. Now it seems like we’re all sick of winter and ready for spring. Or moreover, spring break.

  I’ve refused to ask Warren to do more in the lab or to ask for time away so that I can study more. Now that I know he’s failing too, it doesn’t seem right to ask. We have been working on English together a bit, not as much as I’d really like. He’s almost exactly like I am, with having a better head for numbers than words, but it still comes relatively easy for him, and he’s incredibly good at bullshitting his way through essays. I’m not, so I feel like I need more practice.

  So what I’ve been doing is staying up later these past few days. Sometimes it’s one or two in the morning by the time I finally fall into bed. But I think I’m doing all the assignments a lot better than I was.

  Truth be told, it’s hard for me to fall asleep anyway. I feel so amped up at night, and thirsty like Warren warned I’d be. I know it’s the effects of the Adderall, but if I don’t take it, I’m super unfocused and I just CAN’T be unfocused right now. Besides, when I don’t take it I turn into the Incredible Hulk or something. Just super irritable and completely restless. Either that or all I want to do is sleep.

  I guess I should be honest in my diary, because where else can I be really honest, right? Most nights when I can’t sleep, I swear those Percocets are calling to me from inside my purse, under my bed, like something trapped inside of Russian nesting dolls. I haven’t taken one, but I want to. I want to know if I could sleep better or fall asleep faster. Hell, even if it just made me calmer and more chill like Warren seems to be about everything, I’d take that too. There is nothing worse than being completely on edge at two in the morning, not being able to sleep, teeth chattering, and tossing and turning.

  Emily hasn’t noticed, that I can tell. She’s either not here or she’s fast asleep when I get home. She’s never awake when I come in late from the lab. And the lab . . . we’re keeping up with production, but we’re tragically behind right now on making any extra for spring break. But we HAVE to. We just do. We have to go to the beach and relax and not worry about anything for a week. I swear, if we don’t go, the stress is literally going to kill me.

  Mr. Callahan was not impressed that I missed chemistry yesterday. He says he wants to be able to say, with absolute certainty, that I’m a good candidate for the science program if his friends at Princeton call with an opening. All I could do was apologize and tell him it won’t happen again, but let’s be honest here: I’d do that whole night over again every night if I could. It was absolutely amazing to hang with everyone in the woods, and I have to say, everyone at Prescott treats Katy and Drew like the king and queen, and me and Warren since we’re with them. I think Warren would be really popular if he wasn’t so aloof. It’s almost like he chooses to be a mystery to the rest of the school. I will say this: People seem to trust him. The jocks weren’t the only ones who approached Warren the other night. I remember that, even if the rest of the evening got a little hazy after the tenth time I swigged from Katy’s flask.

  Katy said she was the one who put me to bed and told me to drink some water and to take ibuprofen, NOT aspirin or Tylenol. Thank goodness I have friends who know what they’re doing.

  Anyway, nothing interesting to report, I guess. Still struggling, still tired, still extremely happy that we’re going to the beach, still extremely in love with Warren. And the beat goes on . . .

  April 6

  I feel incredibly bad for even writing this, but it wasn’t until I got to civics and put today’s date at the top of my quiz that I realized: Today’s the anniversary of my mom’s death. It was this day, two years ago, that Mom and I went out to shop and she never came home.

  I took the quiz but I couldn’t tell you a thing that was on it. I’m not even sure I could tell you if it was multiple choice or fill in the blank. Then when I turned it in, I asked if I could go to the restroom. I sat in the girls’ room for the next two periods, perched on a toilet, crying as quietly as I could. I was already so on edge that I didn’t want to take an Adderall, but I also knew it was the only prayer I had of getting through a whole day of classes. So I took two. Some days I’m so thankful that Warren gives me these pills. I’m a complete mess without them anymore, and there’s no way I’d be doing even half as good in my classes if I didn’t have them. Maybe when I’m home over the summer, if my dad is willing to listen, I can tell him how unfocused I am at school, and he’d take me to the doctor and they’d prescribe them for me and then it would be
legit, and I wouldn’t even have to get them from Warren anymore.

  Anyway, I got through the day but it was all a blur. I seriously felt like Mom was there today for some reason, just this presence next to me as I went through the motions. Or maybe it wasn’t her presence I noticed so much today but the lack of it.

  God, what would she think of me? Of what I’m doing? Of any of it?

  Would I have been able to tell her how I’m struggling and stressed? Would I be able to tell her how in love with Warren I am? Or that he was my first? Could we have had that conversation? The truth is, I miss it even if we couldn’t have. If I’d been afraid to approach her about sex and birth control and my first time, that would have been okay, because she would still BE HERE.

  I went home after classes and instead of lying on my bed, jittery and nervous, I went to sleep. I think all the crying exhausted me. . . . At the very least I was exhausted by trying to keep myself together all day.

  I slept until eight, way past time when I’m usually at the lab. When I woke up, there were texts from Warren asking where I was and if I was okay, and one from Katy, too, asking me what was up. I threw on my coat and went to the lab, still in my uniform.

  Warren stopped everything he was doing when he saw me and pulled me into his arms.

  Warren: You’ve been crying. What happened?

  Me: Oh. I’d meant to fix my makeup. It’s nothing. It’s . . . Today’s the day Mom died. The anniversary of it. And I couldn’t keep my shit together. And I went home after school and slept until . . . well, until ten minutes ago.

  Warren, looking alarmed: That’s nearly five hours, Bailey.

  Me: I know. And I’m so sorry. I should have been here. I was just so tired.