Breaking Bailey Read online

  April 26

  I was catching up on homework when there was a knock at the door. Emily and I exchanged a look of confusion, then I got up to answer it. It was Katy. She said there was going to be an emergency meeting and I needed to come with her now. I shut my books and left with her, heart beating a frantic, uneven rhythm in my rib cage.

  We walked across campus to the lab without speaking a word. When we got there, the boys were already there, sitting on stools. There were two empty ones in front of them. Katy and I sat on them.

  Drew spoke first.

  Drew: Bailey, Katy told me about the conversation you had with her recently. About wanting out. It’s understandable. I think we’ve all had moments where we’ve been scared, and we’ve thought about leaving the group. But then I brought it up to Warren, and he admitted he’d had nearly the same conversation with you a few days ago.

  Me: No. I don’t want out. I told Warren that.

  Drew: I don’t think we need to waste time arguing about whether you do or not. We have two people here who can attest to you saying as much. So let’s talk about what happens next.

  Me: But there is a reason to argue. I told Warren and Katy that I’d stay until summer. That I’d keep working and I wouldn’t tell a soul.

  Drew, looking more like a parent running out of patience than a friend: Bailey. You’ve expressed interest in leaving to two people in this group, and you told them that individually, while also trying to persuade them to leave with you.

  Me: Well, I mean, of course. Warren is my boyfriend. Katy’s my best friend. I trust them. I wanted to talk about what I was worried about. And I’m worried about them, too. And you.

  Katy: And what if I wasn’t your best friend? Or Warren wasn’t a boyfriend? Would you run to someone else, someone outside the club, to get advice?

  Me: No. Of course not. I know the rules.

  They continued grilling me for what felt like hours, asking me about Mr. Callahan, how close we are, and how much I’d told him about any of the Club, its actions, OR its members. I didn’t fare well under the pressure, because some of what they were insinuating was partially true, at least without context. I WAS close to Mr. Callahan, we had discussed drugs (generically speaking) and especially meth, and we’d even discussed Warren. I’m sure the guilt was all over my face, even if I didn’t feel what I’d done was wrong.

  I ended up reiterating my stance that police are really cracking down and we need to lay low for a while, maybe stop making until we are sure we won’t be caught. Maybe even until after summer. They stared at me, all of them with expressions that oscillated between embarrassment and flat-out anger.

  Drew: You sound like a coward, Bailey.

  Me: It’s not cowardly to want to be sure that we don’t get into any trouble.

  Warren: The only way we get into trouble is if someone talks. Someone like you.

  Me: No. I won’t talk.

  Katy: You say that now, but what happens when there’s some pressure on you?

  Me: I’ll be fine.

  Warren: Bailey. You’re not fine. You’re about ready to crack just because of Prescott’s classes. Your grades are bad, you’ve said so yourself. You barely sleep. You have a hard time keeping up with the lab work. I mean, you’re barely keeping it together.

  He was being extremely unfair. He knew how hard I was trying. He also knew that I knew he was struggling too. That he was so stressed and his emotions so unmanageable that he was self-medicating just to get by.

  Me: What do I do? What do I do to prove to you that I’m in, that you can trust me? I mean, I gave you collateral. I’ve promised I won’t talk and I will keep doing this. What can I do to convince you?

  Again the three of them exchanged a look.

  Drew, clearing his throat: I don’t think that we can be convinced, Bailey. You’ve already betrayed us, really, by trying to break us apart.

  Me: I swear that wasn’t what I was doing. I just needed to talk things out. Please. What can I do?

  Drew looked to Warren, then away, and I knew something bad was coming.

  Warren: We think perhaps it’s best if you take some time and think about this. Think about what you really want and what it means to be part of this group. Alone.

  The boys again exchanged a look. Katy didn’t even raise her eyes and kept them glued to her polished nails. And it was then that I understood.

  Me: No. No. Please. We were all supposed to go together. It was supposed to be our trip, our reward for all the hard work we’ve done. And I was part of that hard work.

  Katy: We’re not sure we’re comfortable with you being there at the moment.

  Me: But . . .

  Warren: Our buyers want the new version of the product. In two weeks. Obviously I won’t be able to help get the batch ready. But if you decide you really want to stay in, and that you can handle it, you could prove it to us by making this batch.

  It was so unfair. So cold. I’d worked just as hard as them. Harder, sometimes. And here I was, ultimately just trying to protect them, even if they couldn’t see it. It felt like a huge betrayal. They are shutting me out and I know it’s just because they are in denial or in too deep to want to hear what I’m saying. Now it’s clear: I’m totally alone in this.

  Me: I don’t know why you’re doing this. I don’t understand. I was just worried for you. You’re my friends. I didn’t want any of us to get in trouble. I haven’t betrayed you at all. In fact, it’s the opposite. I’m trying to help.

  And then . . .

  Drew: Your method of “helping” is going to land us all in prison. If you can’t shut up and get it together, the collateral goes out.

  Katy said nothing. Neither did Drew. No one could meet my eyes, like they couldn’t stand to look at me. Voice shaking, I appealed to the one person in the room who might care enough to be sympathetic.

  Me: Warren? You know I can be trusted, right?

  Warren raised his gaze to mine. His pretty eyes were dull, filled with disappointment and, I think, disgust. He gave a short shake of his head.

  Warren: I don’t think so, Bailey.

  They left me in the lab, crying and stunned, with no one to turn to.

  I took a Percocet to help me sleep, but I’m truthfully so exhausted I probably didn’t need it. I’m sitting here writing, still in shock. If I don’t keep my head down and do what they say, my life will be ruined. I’m so angry and so . . . I don’t know. Is there a word that’s worse than devastated? Even Warren wouldn’t speak up for me. How could he? After all I’ve done for him, after all we’ve been through and the things he’s said to me. How could he say he loves me and then just talk like that to them about me? And THEY’RE concerned about betrayal? What do they think this is?

  I’ve got to get out. At this point, maybe all I can do is do the things that will cause the least amount of problems for me: stay here, make the next batch, keep my mouth shut, do as I’m told. Then once it’s summer I can be home and beg Dad to let me go back to my old school. Maybe I can disappear and never see any of the Science Club again.

  May 4

  I’ve been aimless for days. And utterly alone. They left Sunday, but even before that . . . I just sort of wandered in and out of classes, went to the lab, did what was expected of me. I wish I could say I tried to talk to them, tried again to get them to understand or change their minds about the trip, but I didn’t. I can’t decide if I’m cowardly or just too tired. Maybe I’m just done caring.

  Warren talked to me. He kissed me too but gave up when I was unresponsive. It’s weird. It’s like I’m not even really angry now. I just feel empty. He told me not to be upset, that when they got back and the new batch was done, everything would be okay again. He told me it was just business and not to take it personally. But how can I not? It WAS personal.

  And I can’t stop thinking about how Warren didn’t defend me. He didn’t tell them how hard I’d been working. And he had no defense for not defending me, other than telling me this
was for the best. How could it be for the best to spend a week apart when we could have been on a warm beach together?

  And . . . HOW COULD HE DO THIS TO ME? To someone he loves? Or maybe . . . maybe that’s just it, isn’t it? Or he does love me but not nearly as much as he loves himself or his money or pills.

  And Katy. She didn’t defend me either, and she knew the stress I’d been under. She’d been helping herself to my Addys for weeks, for Pete’s sake. But apparently all that meant nothing.

  I considered calling Dad and telling him I was going to come home for break, and maybe going home and staying home. That would show them. The more I thought about it, though, the more I realized that wouldn’t fix anything. My grades would still be abysmal and I’d have no chance of pulling them up, not to mention I really wouldn’t have any friends. I didn’t keep in touch with my old friends at all, so I’d be alone there, too.

  Added to that, I didn’t want to have to tell my dad that I wasn’t going on the trip. I have to hang on to what little pride I have left, and besides, he’d ask so many questions. Also, there’s no way I want to go home and be a third wheel with him and Isa. That would make everything so, so much worse.

  I thought about calling Bex, too. But I didn’t want to worry her and I really didn’t want her to invite me to New York with her friends out of pity or something. Talk about pathetic, having to hang out with your little sister’s friends over break.

  So I am alone.

  Plus I have to make the batch of new product. And I knew I was going to and that I have to do a perfect job. I’ve already made it once before and I’m certain I can do it again. I need to show them I’m serious, I’m in this, and I’m not going to let them down, because I need to buy time. I need to figure out how to get out of this without landing myself in jail. And if I’m honest, I need time to wean myself off pills, too. Needing them means needing Warren, and I still need both.

  Warren did come to say good-bye, so that’s something. He pulled me into his arms and apologized over and over, and told me he hoped I would understand. If not today, then sometime in the future. How the hell will I ever understand what he’s done to me? I loved him. I DO love him, even if I know I won’t ever mean as much to him as money or a quick high. I’ve only ever wanted to help him, to make sure he was okay. In exchange he’s given me what? Pills? Paranoia? He certainly hasn’t given me any reason to believe he wouldn’t let me take the fall for everything if he felt like he was in trouble.

  And he can talk all he wants and try to make it sound like no big deal, that he’s leaving without me, but it’s a punishment, I know it is. It’s like when my mom and dad used to make me sit in a corner and “think about what I’ve done.” It’s not even about the thinking. They want it to sink in just how miserable they could make me. And I know that somewhere on Drew’s hard drive is the video he took, the collateral I gave them, and he’s just itching to use it, should I step out of line and narc on them.

  To top all of this off, report cards came out for third semester. As in chemistry and precalc, naturally. A B- in civics and Spanish. C- in English. C MINUS.

  I’m failing English, officially. I have an appointment with my guidance counselor for tomorrow, and I expect that she will tell me I have to retake English over the summer. I mean, she scheduled me during a student break . . . the news can’t be good.

  English aside, Bs have never been a thing for me before. Never. I feel like I’m failing those, too. The teachers say my work is sloppy, careless, thoughtless. That I’m not thinking critically enough, writing well enough, whatever. I don’t know how. I feel fine about my assignments and tests when I turn them in. I feel like I’ve focused so well during my classes, even when I’m tired or stressed or worried about Warren. The Adderall really helps with that. But maybe it’s all an illusion. Maybe the Adderall only makes me feel that way, but that’s not the reality. Obviously they don’t think my work is up to par.

  I’m scared. Harvard doesn’t exactly take B-average students. They certainly don’t take students who can’t write a coherent essay. I don’t know what I’m going to do. Prescott was supposed to improve my chances, but I think it’s done the opposite. I can’t keep up. Even when I try my hardest. And it’s not just the schoolwork; I’m obviously failing at everything. I disappointed my friends; I let my business partners down. Even my own boyfriend would rather go on vacation without me.

  And ugh, Emily is staying over break too, and she seemed too distracted to even notice that I’m not in the Cayman Islands. Honestly, she’s been a wreck. I don’t know. Maybe my nerves are so shot they’re rubbing off on her. She seems jittery and stressed. She won’t stop moving when she’s in our room. She’s either bouncing her leg while she’s reading or tapping her pencil or her fingers on the desk. And even when she’s asleep she’s restless. I think she tosses and turns all night long, and it keeps me up too, even when I take a Percocet.

  And I don’t even want to admit how many of those I’ve taken this week. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t convince myself to care when I’m finally, FINALLY falling asleep. Everything seems so peaceful, like none of this stuff matters.

  The Science Club is probably on a beautiful white, sandy beach, staring at a gorgeous blue ocean. The kind where you can’t even tell when it ends and the sky begins. Probably drinking piña coladas and laughing and not missing me at all. And Warren is probably massaging sunscreen on Katy’s shoulders and back, seeing her curvy body in a revealing bikini. She’s probably trailing a hand lightly down his chest and speaking in double entendres that make him blush and plant all sorts of ideas in his head.

  I sort of hate them right now. I hate everyone. I hate me, too.

  May 6

  I was right. Kind of. I will have to retake English, maybe. IF I can’t keep my grade above a C the last semester. And honestly, since I thought my work was okay and it obviously wasn’t, I can’t see how I’ll keep my grade higher than a C next semester. I don’t even understand what I’m doing so wrong. There’s a snowball’s chance in hell that I’ll be able to pull it off, especially if I’m going to keep up the workload in the lab like I promised.

  At least it will be summer class. Which is good. That way I’m not held back an entire year. But it also means there’s no way I could go to Princeton’s summer program, even if I get in.

  So, you know, I HAVE to keep this grade up, but I probably can’t, so I’m probably not going to Princeton.

  My anxiety is out of control. I don’t want to keep taking Percocets and end up like Warren, but the Adderall isn’t cutting it anymore. I have much bigger problems now, but what can I do? Go to a therapist and tell her I’m stressed out because I’m afraid I’m going to get caught making highly illegal drugs?

  I think I need to be honest here: I can’t talk about this with anyone, so no one can help me.

  I’m completely alone.

  May 7

  I’ve spent eight days in a row by myself, save only for Emily, who has tried to be kind, even, but I’m so irritable I can’t even deal with her voice. Besides, she’s so annoyingly restless I find myself staying in the lab even longer just so it doesn’t rub off on me. I sometimes eat some cereal in the dining hall in the morning and maybe get a piece of pizza or some mac and cheese sometime in the afternoon. But other than that, I don’t eat. I think I’m losing more weight, but that could just be my imagination.

  I do some extra work for English in the hopes that I might be able to salvage my grades (and the entire course of my life, while I’m at it), then I go to the lab.

  It’s weird keeping it running all by myself while everyone is gone. It’s lonely and it’s very, very quiet. If the Club truly wanted me to think about what I’ve done and what it means to be part of their group, well, I’ve had nothing but time. Mark came by to grab his money, which Drew had left for him in a drawer, and I nearly begged him to stay and keep me company.

  But the work isn’t hard. The instructions are clear, and Warren is nothi
ng if not precise, so it’s no trouble. I’ve looked at his notes and worked the equations out myself just to see if I could. Everything is sound; Warren truly knows what he’s doing. Maybe he can find the cure to help addicts, once he stops making drugs for them and all.

  I stay until late, make sure everything is off that should be, and lock up. It’s usually midnight or after before I’m back in my dorm room and back in bed. Emily’s usually there sleeping restlessly, but once she wasn’t, and I couldn’t bring myself to care. I’m just grateful we’re not fighting and she hasn’t said anything about not going with Warren.

  Warren and the rest will be back tomorrow. The batch is nearly done. If it passes muster, maybe I can regain the Club’s trust so maybe they won’t be watching me so closely. After all the thinking I’ve done this week, I know for sure: There’s only one way to keep going. They’re not going to just let me out of this. They’re too afraid I’ll narc. And what else or WHO else do I have at this point? I have nothing. So I’ll do what it takes to stay in. It’s the only way I can get through this year. Then . . . then I’ll be able to get out somehow. I’ll vanish. I just need to make it through for right now.

  I will just have to keep my head down, keep those blinders on, and not think about what happens after our product leaves our little lab. Or who it affects.

  It’s better this way. For everyone.

  May 8

  Warren is back.

  He came by, knocking on my bedroom door. When I opened it up, I didn’t really know what to do. Part of me wanted to shut the door in his face and shut him out of my life forever. But there was another part of me that just wanted things to be okay. I wanted him to hug me like everything was going to be all right. And . . . I guess old habits die hard. I wanted his approval. I wanted him to let me back in and accept me. I’ve held him up on that pedestal for so long, and I’ve felt so low and beneath him . . . and I know he’s part of the reason I’ve felt so low . . . but I was just so tired. So tired and so desperate to have SOMEONE. I’m so tired of not having someone. Mom, Dad, Bex . . . all my old friends and now my new. Something about seeing Warren made me cling to that last bit of hope I had that maybe things could change. That maybe I’m not alone.