Breaking Bailey Page 20

  In the end, Warren made the first move and pulled me into his arms.

  Warren: God, Bailey. I’ve missed you so much. It’s so good to see you. I’m so, SO sorry.

  It was probably a lie, but I let myself believe it. Maybe holding on to the fantasy of how things could be would get me through the end of the year. Emily was there and saw the whole exchange. She shot him a particularly grouchy look, which he shrugged off, then asked me if we could go to dinner.

  Me: Are you sure? I mean, are you allowed to? Is this okay?

  Warren: Of course! All of this . . . It’s not about us. You understand that, right? This wasn’t about you and me. This was about trust.

  Trust. Yes. Trust is a funny thing. He thinks I can’t be trusted because I talked about wanting to stop the Club. While he’s the one who didn’t defend me and didn’t have my back. And now I need him and the rest of the Club to trust me again so I can get out.

  I threw on a sweater and went with him. We got in his car and drove into Wiltshire, saying nothing to each other most of the way there. But he did put his hand on my knee when he wasn’t shifting gears. His touch was somehow both reassuring and sad at the same time. He was wearing a short-sleeved shirt, and his skin was a deep golden tan. When he pulled to a stop in front of one of the best restaurants in town, he looked over at me, smiling. Neither of us was in any hurry to go in, though. I noticed Warren wasn’t fidgety, nor were his movements sluggish. He was as sober as could be, and I silently thanked my luck that we could talk without any chemicals . . . assisting. Or getting in the way.

  He confessed that he made a reservation at the restaurant, thinking I’d probably turn him down. I almost laughed. How could I turn him down? If I broke up with him right now, he and Drew and Katy would probably panic and threaten me with the collateral. Or worse, just hand it over to the police. It was easier to just smile and act like there wasn’t any reason for him to think I wouldn’t come with him.

  I asked him about the beach, and he talked about how high and drunk he was the whole time. He said nothing about how pretty the water was, how the sun felt, or what it was like with the sand between his toes. Instead he told me he’d found a good combination of pills that let him sleep through Katy and Drew fighting, which apparently they did the whole time, and bragged a little about not having any hangovers because of yet another concoction of pills.

  Maybe I should have been concerned, but I certainly was not surprised. Besides, that kind of conversation always led to a fight, and I couldn’t afford a fight with him now. Head down, blinders on.

  We got really quiet, both of us, and I looked at Warren, but he wasn’t looking at me. He was staring straight ahead. It was starting to rain a little, and the mournful patter of raindrops on the roof was the only sound for a moment or two. Then Warren spoke.

  Warren: Bailey, I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I wanted so badly to just have a nice week with you, relaxing and fun and sexy. I’ve wanted so much more for us, and for you. I wish we were just normal, you know? Just normal kids. No Science Club. No demanding Prescott classes. No worrying about colleges or summer programs that are incredibly hard to get into. And no . . . no family problems or pills or . . . anything else. Just you and me.

  He wasn’t crying, exactly, but he had his eyes so tightly shut that no tears could have fallen, which might have been precisely his goal. It struck me again just how similar Warren and I are, how abandoned we both feel, and my heart broke for him all over again, but I couldn’t let myself lean into him or even put a hand on his to comfort him. As bad as I felt for him, as much as I felt he was telling me the actual truth this time, I also couldn’t let myself soften toward him when he’d so coldly and easily told the Club that I shouldn’t be trusted. I leaned against the car door, away from him, instead, and did my best to tell him what he wanted to hear even if my body language was saying something else entirely.

  Me: We aren’t normal, though. And we can’t be. But we’re not alone, are we? We have each other.

  Warren: We do? We do. I just . . . I wasn’t sure. I thought when we left without you, that maybe that was it. You’d decide it wasn’t worth it. That I wasn’t worth it. And you wouldn’t want anything to do with me when I got back.

  Me: I was really upset. Really angry. I won’t lie to you about that. And I still think it was unfair.

  Warren: It was. I’ve made mistakes too, but Drew and Katy were never that harsh on me. Hell, Drew and Katy have made mistakes themselves. I tried to tell them they were overreacting, but they wouldn’t listen to me.

  Me, heart skipping: So . . . it was them?

  Warren: Oh, baby. Of course it was. I wanted to just forgive you and let it all go and let you come along with us. They wouldn’t let up, though.

  Me: But . . . but . . . you didn’t defend me.

  Warren, taking my hands in his: Baby, I defended you all I could. By the time we talked to you about it, though, I couldn’t do anything. They’d already made up their minds. Arguing with them then would have probably just made it worse. But I tried, I really did. I hope you’re not angry with me.

  Me, honest: No. I’m not angry. I’ve had a lot of time to think, which is what Katy and Drew wanted. And I understand why what I did made everyone freak out. I won’t do it again. I want back in. I want everything to be our normal again.

  Warren: It will be, soon. And if you made this new batch correctly, you’ll prove it to them. So . . . we’re good? We’re okay?

  Me, forcing words and a smile: Of course. I love you.

  Warren: I love you. And I’m so glad to be back here with you. Honestly, I couldn’t stop thinking about you the whole time I was gone. Everything would have been so much better with you there.

  Although that was nice to hear, I was thinking about his explanations. Plausible or not, none of it meant he couldn’t have fought for me more. And he’d left me, thinking that might possibly mean I’d break up with him. There were alternatives. He could have stayed with me. But clearly, the Club was still more important to him than I was.

  We went into the restaurant then, and I let him treat me to lobster. And since it was the last night of break and the dorm parents weren’t too inspired to make the rounds religiously, I went back to his room with him since Drew was spending the night at his parents’ house. I wish I could explain it. Maybe I should have just gone back to my room alone but . . . it felt good to be wanted. And maybe I just wanted to feel normal for a while.

  Maybe I just wanted to feel anything at all.

  May 11

  It’s Friday night and I’m not sure what we did tonight was the best idea.

  The Science Club had to let our, um, investors try the new product because of course they were skeptical, and they weren’t going to give us a penny without making sure it was good. Drew was going, naturally, with Warren as the extra male muscle, I guess. And Katy insisted on going too, because she’s the contact maker and she wanted to make sure her people were satisfied. As for me, well, I couldn’t NOT go. I didn’t want to be left out of one more thing, to be honest. Plus, I was the one who actually made the new version of the product. I had to see for myself.

  We loaded up Drew’s car, and a few minutes later we were in Wiltshire’s east side, in front of a house I recognized from that initial trip with the boys, and then seeing it when I went to find the trailer park. Drew turned to me and Katy in the back before we got out.

  Drew: Let me and Warren do the talking. I know they’re yours, Katy, but they’re used to us now. We deal with them every week. And let me do all the negotiating. The money is MY thing. If they have any questions about the product, though, Bailey and Warren should answer. And dumb it down, okay? They don’t need to know our formula, just that it’s safe. Capisce?

  Warren laughed. He was especially mellow tonight, so if I had to guess, I’d say Percocets. Snorted. Or perhaps something even stronger. I didn’t even acknowledge it. I think I’m slowly starting to realize that he’ll never stop. It remind
ed me that I need to talk to him about something for my nerves. I want that kind of mellow, and at this point, it can’t hurt. Just one more thing I have to stop.

  Me: Drew, what if they don’t like it?

  Drew, shrugging: Then we go back to the old formula and keep our rates the same for a while so they forget about it.

  Me: Yeah, but . . . what about me?

  Katy, glaring: You’d better hope to hell it’s good.

  Me: I followed Warren’s instructions exactly! I’m sure it will be.

  Katy: You follow a recipe okay. Instructions, like keeping your mouth shut, seem to be different.

  Me: I haven’t talked to anyone but you guys since. Well, Emily, because I had to. But I swear, not another word to anyone.

  Drew: Yeah. We’ll see. We do appreciate you making this batch, though. It was nice not to have to worry about anything for a few days.

  Me: So . . . I’m in? We’re good?

  Warren, now serious: Yes. We’re good. (Katy and Drew looked at him. He looked at me.) We ARE good. C’mon, guys. She’s learned. And it’s my fault if they don’t like this batch, not hers. It was my idea.

  Finally, FINALLY, he defended me. I should have been happy about that, perhaps, but I was just tired. All I could do was give him a weak smile.

  So we went inside the house, Warren carrying a plastic bag in the pocket of his overcoat. I’m not sure what I expected when I got inside. Perhaps an old-fashioned mob movie scene . . . guys polishing guns and cooking marinara while smoking cigars and talking business. Or maybe something like out of a true crime show, with high people and drug paraphernalia everywhere. Neither of those things awaited us inside.

  The house wasn’t exactly clean; it looked really run-down, with yellow walls and stained carpet and secondhand furniture, but there were only three people inside the house that I could see. All three of them seemed so young and all three of them were sober from what I could tell. They were also surprisingly clean-cut and wearing clothes that, though not up to Prescott standards and trends, were clearly of a style and brand they loved. An expensive brand.

  Katy and I hung back, letting the boys do the work. She and I didn’t talk. We didn’t look at each other. I hadn’t seen Katy much this week, probably because she knew exactly how to avoid me, but something told me it wasn’t all because she was angry with me, either. Even when I saw her and she didn’t realize I was there, she was distracted, angry, and very irritable. I know Warren said she and Drew fought a lot, but I had to wonder if she’d fought with Warren, too. I knew he was her source, and if she’d gone without during their vacation, Warren would have been to blame. And honestly, it felt like something Warren would do . . . deny her, maybe for revenge for not letting me come. Maybe just because he wanted to remind her who was really in charge. But the way Katy was acting . . . so on edge . . . well, I know that feeling acutely now. I feel it every time I don’t have an Addy in my system.

  The three men didn’t introduce themselves but they definitely wanted confirmation that I wasn’t a snitch. Katy snorted, and Drew shot her a murderous glare before telling the men that I could absolutely be trusted and, as a matter of fact, I was the “head chef,” so to speak, for this particular batch. Then the three guys really got down to business, taking the bag from Warren and proceeding to get high from the crystals I’d created.

  It took a few minutes, and the three men exchanged looks between them before one of them said, “This is some really good shit,” and the rest echoed that exact phrase.

  I breathed out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding, and Katy grabbed my hand, anger forgotten, squealing with delight. Warren came over and kissed me and whispered how amazing I was and how we’d done it, we’d done THIS together, and we were perfect together, and he loved me, which made my stomach turn.

  Of course. For this he loves me. What would he have done if the product hadn’t been perfect? Would they all have turned their backs on me or sold me out?

  While this was happening, Drew started negotiations for price on the new product. By the time we left, he’d secured significant raises for all of us, with the promise that our product was going to be even more famous now. On the way home, Katy proposed we celebrate in Drew and Warren’s room, so that’s where we went. We finished our planning with a bottle of champagne Drew had been “saving for a special occasion.” Drew did some quick math and we realized exactly how much more we were going to be making per week, and we toasted. Then Katy brought up that we could also push this product to our newest expansion, and I agreed it was a good idea, even though I still wasn’t clear where exactly we’d expanded to. Then Katy and I fell asleep in Drew and Warren’s beds, respectively, and had to sneak out at dawn. Honestly, it was nice to feel like she liked me again. Being on Katy Ashton’s bad side feels absolutely terrible.

  I DO think I can keep doing this until the summer. I think this will work. Warren will be at Princeton, so we can’t cook, and I won’t be able to get my pills. I can stop taking them then, and then the plan is to fade away. Not come back after summer. They’d have to be okay with that, right? If I didn’t come back? What could they do? At the very least, it might even be worth my while to keep working on the product. Maybe I can make it even safer and assuage some of my guilt. And hey, if I fail out of Prescott, at least I’ll have a backup career waiting for me. Ha, I’m hilarious.

  May 14

  I haven’t written for a few days. I’ve just been so busy and I’ve been trying so hard to get my life back on track, in every department.

  First, I’ve been working a lot on English. I was allowed to work on some extra credit, so I did all of that and maybe I can pull up my grade some. Mr. Callahan has actually put me in touch with one of the professors from Princeton that’s in charge of the summer program. He thinks that maybe if I can make a personal connection and show this prof how much I want in and what I’m capable of, he might bend some rules and get me into the program this summer anyway.

  Second, Warren has been extra sweet this past week. We haven’t fought at all. He’s super proud of the way I’ve made the product lately, so maybe it’s that, that the business is going well. I often wonder, though, if he’s being so nice because he feels guilty. I even told him about my anxiety, and he promised he’d get me something to help. I don’t think I’ll take whatever he gets me, but I suppose it’s just his way of trying to help. In the meantime, he got me more Percocets. He got me more Adderall, too, and even though I had decided to cut back, it seems to help me focus on schoolwork, which I really need right now. Like Warren, I can just keep on keeping on until summer. I think that once I push through that shaky, irritable feeling, I should be fine after a couple of days. I won’t ever have to take it again. I didn’t tell him about how many Percocets I took over break, or anytime, really. It’s not like I’m lying. I just don’t want him thinking I’m a hypocrite for asking him to stop.

  Third, Katy has been incredible this week. She really has. She’s been so happy about the new product and getting it out to everyone that she’s been the same fun Katy she was when we first started hanging out. She even promised a shopping trip this weekend. After all, we’ll be making a bit more money this week, if everything goes according to plan. We’re thinking Saturday. Clearly, as long as I do what the Club wants and keep my mouth shut, they’ll act like they like me.

  Last, there haven’t been any new developments in newspaper coverage of the drug problem in Wiltshire. I heard some of my classmates talking about it in passing, but they all agreed that heroin is a bigger problem. Around here, they said, it’s almost easier to get heroin than meth, and it’s not like people die from meth like Warren’s brother did from heroin. You’re not going to find a meth addict dead with a needle in his arm. So I’ve been able to let it go, keep my mouth shut, and do my work.

  The only thing that hasn’t gone well this week is Emily. I walked in the other day and she demanded to know where Warren was, and we got into a huge argument. She was sup
er aggressive, almost hyper or panicked. She reminded me of a hummingbird or something, the way she was pacing the room, back and forth, quick and with sharp movements. It actually reminded me of the way Warren and Drew were when they tried our meth, but I realized there was no way she was on meth of all things. Ridiculous. Emily seems pretty straitlaced, really. Not exactly a Goody Two-shoes, but nowhere near the Science Club. It was probably my own paranoia that made me even think it.

  She was driving me so nuts I finally told her Warren was with Drew in their dorm and she left. I think it would have bothered me more if she’d tried to hide that she was going to him, but I knew exactly where she was headed. I texted Warren to warn him, and he told me later that he cut her off right before she tried to get in the dorm and talked her down from this particular episode. I told him it wasn’t his responsibility to do that for her, but he said he felt bad for her and felt obligated because before him, she wasn’t so bad. He said he felt terrible for being the one to cause her to spiral.

  I had to wonder about that, why he would have been the cause. It was one thing for Emily to imply it, and another for Warren himself to say something.

  Things almost felt “normal” with the SC this week. I must be doing an okay job of seeming normal myself.

  May 18

  Oh my God. Just got back from the lab, where Drew handed out our “paychecks.” I can’t even believe it. Not only are we selling the product for more, while our ingredient costs are down, we are selling more product itself. Word definitely got out that we have something of better quality, which doesn’t take as much for a high. It’s worrisome; that’s going to make it easier for the police to track us down, not to mention maybe even make more addicts. But like everything else right now, I’m shoving those feelings aside so I can finally get out of this.