Breaking Bailey Read online

  January 17

  Okay, well, I have GOT to get ahold of myself.

  I overslept this morning. I hit snooze, only it wasn’t snooze; I turned my alarm off. Luckily, Emily shook me awake and asked me if I was sick. While she was trying to inform me about sick day procedures at Prescott, I jumped up in a panic and pulled on my uniform. I barely had time to comb my hair. I went to class without makeup and without a shower. I wanted to disappear all day long and just go home. I even thought about skipping lunch but I was starving since I didn’t have any time to grab a bagel before classes started. Warren, bless him, didn’t say a word about how awful I must have looked but hugged me hard after lunch, like he was concerned for me. Katy pulled me into the girls’ room and let me use her concealer. Thank goodness for good friends.

  I tried to work on my essay during chemistry but my brain felt like it had been fried. I barely got more than two paragraphs done, which left me tonight to finish it and type it up on top of all the other homework I had.

  When I got to the lab tonight, I started to tell Warren about the essay and how it still wasn’t done (I hadn’t wanted to admit that to him. He’s always so on top of things. I feel so stupid around him sometimes, I swear). Then I don’t know what happened. Something in me snapped. One minute I was explaining about the essay and how I needed time to work on it tonight, the next I was apologizing for being such a screwup and sobbing into his chest while telling him about how hard Prescott was for me. Well, and not just Prescott. But my father being distant, missing Bex, missing my mom. . . . It was so bad I soaked his uniform sweater. I think . . . I think maybe I didn’t realize how stressed I’ve been until I started talking about it. I don’t think I knew how much I was missing my family, either. And how tired I really am. Even on good nights I’m hardly in bed by midnight, and classes start by seven thirty. At most I get six hours’ sleep, if I can sleep well at all.

  He held me, stroking my hair and telling me to tell him everything. Then he lifted me on top of the counter, kissed me, and started working through the problems with me in this amazing, confident, calm way. Exactly the opposite of me.

  Warren: Everything is okay here, Bailey. Don’t worry about the product. I can handle it.

  Me: But . . . but you have a lot of work too.

  Warren: Yes, but you have the essay to do. That’s an extra thing I don’t have, since I’ve been admitted to that program before. So go ahead and work on it. Use my laptop to type up what you have, and write the rest when you’re done. That way you’re not writing it twice. You can e-mail it to yourself and print it in the lab in the morning. I’ll give you my calculus homework to copy, and chemistry, too, if you haven’t done it. I can’t do your reading for you in English, though. If you can do it after your essay, great. If not, read it this weekend and catch up. If you’re called on in class, tell her you think the stories are metaphors for sex or politics or something. That will make you sound like you know what you’re doing. Works like a charm, trust me.

  Me, grabbing his face and kissing him: You’re wonderful, you know that? I’m a mess, but you’re wonderful. Thank you.

  Warren, smiling, intense gaze on me: You’re not a mess, Bailey Wells. You can do this. And I’ll help you.

  And that’s just what he did. I somehow managed to get everything done, and for the first time since break, I feel relaxed. It’s late now, and I’m setting two alarms for tomorrow, just in case. And even though it was late when I went to bed and I set two alarms for myself just in case, for the first time since break, I felt relaxed.

  January 19

  I got my application in on time. I’m not sure the essay was the best it could be, but at least I got it done. I did decide to write about making drugs that are non-addictive in the future, and I managed to work in some info about the drug problem in the local area as well. No outside sources needed.

  Warren insisted we go into Wiltshire to celebrate, and since Drew needed to make a few drops, he and Katy went with us. It turned into an excellent evening. Drew suggested we catch a movie while he was out taking care of business, so Katy and I overruled Warren to see a romantic comedy. We kept joking around that Warren had a harem, since it was like he was taking us both on a date. It totally embarrassed him, I think, but it was so fun to watch him blush and seem awkward for once. We were the only people in the theater, and so we got a little rowdy and had a popcorn fight and kept a running commentary of the movie as it played.

  When we came out, Drew was waiting by his car for us, mission completed. He gestured to Warren, and Warren nodded, then the two boys went off a little ways to talk alone. Katy and I crawled into the warm car to wait, me in the back and her in shotgun.

  Me: What’s that about?

  Katy: Probably just business. Who knows? They do this all the time.

  Me: And it doesn’t bother you that you’re not included?

  Katy, shrugging, focusing on her phone: Nah. The less I know, the better, really.

  Me: But won’t we all get in trouble anyway? If one of us is caught? Don’t we all . . . you know, go down with the ship?

  Katy, finally looking at me: Oh, you sweet, innocent child. Of course not. If Drew gets caught making drops, it’s all on him. Or if you and Warren get busted in the lab one night, Drew and I don’t know you. No, if you get caught, you take one for the team. Why do you think I always let Drew do the drops alone?

  Me: So . . . cut and run?

  Katy: Cut and run. As much as we can.

  Me, squinting at her: Save yourself instead of all of us in it together? That doesn’t seem very loyal.

  Katy, snapping: Loyal? You don’t think that’s loyal, Bailey? If I got caught, I’d do everything I could to keep the rest of you from getting caught too. I’d take all the blame. You guys could go on with your lives while I rot in prison. I’d do it for all three of you, and I know Drew and Warren would do the same for me.

  Me: Okay, okay. Sorry. I didn’t understand. I get it now. I’d do it too. I just . . . didn’t see it like that before.

  Katy, softening: In this business, it’s about doing the least amount of damage to ourselves that we can. You got me?

  I think I got her. There is honor among thieves, so to speak. The most honorable thing you could do if you were caught would be to keep your mouth shut about everyone else and their involvement. And for some reason, it makes me feel safer. I mean, of course it’s nice knowing that if one of us got caught, we wouldn’t all go down. But it is also good to know that we’d all go to such lengths for each other. Again, I feel that weird sense of trust in this little group.

  Of course there’s the collateral to consider. Which would be used if we ever betrayed one another. But we would never do that.

  Warren and Drew got back in the car, none the wiser to the conversation Katy and I had just had. Warren took my hand.

  Katy: Everything okay?

  Drew, smiling: More than okay. You know that thing we talked about? How we could expand? It’s gonna start next week. One of our dealers has made a few connections, so there will be about five degrees separating it from us.

  Katy: Excellent.

  Drew: But that means Bailey and Warren will have to cook even more. Can you handle it?

  Warren, squeezing my hand: We can handle it.

  But . . . I’m not sure I can. I’m barely making it as it is. And I want to know more about this so-called expansion. Where are we expanding to? But then again, the less I know, the better (Katy’s words). I think I should probably heed them. The less I know, the fewer lies I’d have to tell, and the more I can keep the distribution part of this process far, far away from me.

  January 21

  I have literally all my books piled up with me on the bed right now. Emily wanted to know if we could go see a movie with those passes I gave her and there’s just no possible way I can. It’s Sunday night, and it’s my own fault because I left all of this to do until now. After the news Friday that we’d be expanding, Warren and I kicked up
our production majorly yesterday, and we were there until late (luckily, no one else was, so we got in some great making out while things cooked around us), and we were at the lab most of today, too.

  I apologized to Emily, saying it was bad planning/procrastination and totally my fault, and she nodded understandingly. She said the workload this semester was overwhelming, even for Prescott. We joked that the teachers are all involved in a conspiracy to drive us insane. Then she asked if Warren and I are pretty serious.

  Emily: You’re just spending a ton of time with him is all.

  Me: You really want to know?

  Emily, rolling her eyes: It’s fine. I’m fine.

  Me: Then yes, I think we’re pretty serious.

  Emily: But you’re not hanging out with him tonight? He could probably help you with homework. He’s smarter than anyone else here.

  Me: I’m aware. But he’s got his own work to do.

  Emily: I’m sure he does.

  I didn’t really appreciate her talking to me like I don’t know Warren or something. I’M his girlfriend, after all, and pretty soon he and I will have been together longer than he and Emily were. She was barely a blip on his radar. And I didn’t like the knowing way she said, “I’m sure he does.” She doesn’t know the half of it. If she knew how he keeps up with his classes while also basically running a whole business . . .

  Deep breaths, Bailey. Emily is no longer your competition. He broke up with her. And he’s with you now. Relax. Okay, self. Good talk.

  I just don’t know why Warren seems to bring all the jealousy out of me. And really, thinking about our conversation, she could have meant everything she said innocently. It’s just that I already have my hackles up with the stress and . . . yep. The jealousy. I vowed to give her the benefit of the doubt. Maybe this is more MY issue than hers.

  Anyway, as we were working, Emily got a text. She glanced at it and got up, throwing her coat and boots on. She looked at me and shrugged, saying she’d be back later.

  I was trying to seem calm and casual (I hope she couldn’t tell that she’d gotten a rise out of me), so I didn’t ask her where she was going. She can do whatever the hell she wants, as long as it’s not with Warren.

  January 27

  I haven’t written in a few days again. It’s not just that I’m busy. It’s that my hand actually hurts from writing as much as I have been. Warren and I are basically working from the minute classes end for the day until ten or eleven at night, then I come home and do any work I still have left, and fall asleep, usually on a book.

  At least I’m not the only one. Emily’s obviously been just as stressed-out. If she’s here at all, she’s sometimes passed out in her bed, snoring slightly. I can totally understand where she’s coming from, so I just throw a blanket on her and let her sleep. We’ve both had to wake each other up for classes in the morning a few times now. Emily’s incredibly hard to stir, so I sort of hate it. She acts like she doesn’t know where she is for a while, and she always wants food first thing. Sometimes we’re both so late there’s no time to get breakfast, so she gets into our stash of granola bars and takes five or six for herself. I don’t mind it, really. But I feel like if she’s going to take a whole box of granola bars, basically, in one day, she should probably pay for the bulk of them. Whatever.

  Mr. Callahan said I’d hear from Princeton in about a month, so nothing to report there yet.

  In other news, I got a B on another English paper. This time about Chaucer. She said it was a good premise but not enough support with the text, and it lost its focus. I’m upset, but only at myself because she’s right. The paper is a mess. I’m lucky she gave me a B, honestly.

  But between that and the bad civics test, I’ve got to double my efforts in those two classes. I still have a chance to pull all As, if I can do phenomenally well in the next few assignments.

  I’ll start tomorrow. I’m just too tired tonight. I can’t wait to get in bed and sleep. I feel like I could sleep for days.

  January 28

  Nothing really to report except to say I’m super pissed at myself. First day of trying to double my efforts in civics and English and I got home later than usual from the lab and fell asleep with my English book on my stomach.

  I just can’t stay awake, but if I can’t stay awake longer, how can I get everything done???

  January 29

  Tonight I actually fell asleep in the lab. I woke up hunched over a lab table to Warren rubbing my shoulders. When I asked what time it was, Warren told me it was just after ten and that I’d been out for almost a half hour. A HALF HOUR.

  Then he told me to go home and rest, that he could handle all the product tonight. And I looked at him and his bright blue eyes and sweet smile and I looked at all the books spread around me on the table and all the things we had simmering and smoking and cooking and . . . it just hit me that I’m failing everything. I’m failing school, I’m failing my friends, I’m failing Warren. I’m even failing Bex. I haven’t called her for ages. I can’t keep up with it all, can’t hold up my end of the bargain. All I do is disappoint, let people down, and break promises. Everything feels so out of reach and I can’t remember the last time I had a break to rest. No break in sight, and only constantly disappointing everyone I care about and I . . .

  I just lost it. Completely lost it. And it wasn’t like I let out this big scream or sob or anything. I just sat there numb and tired and silently crying. That was the worst of it, I think. That there was no warning. The nervous breakdown sneaked up on me, and I was completely unprepared.

  So was Warren. His eyes got as big as I’d ever seen them and he hugged me hard. Then he knelt in front of me, holding my hands while I cried and cried and cried.

  Me: I can’t leave you to do all this alone anymore. I’m not being a good partner. Or girlfriend. Or sister or student or roommate or friend or . . . or anything right now. I just can’t get it all done. All the homework and the Science Club. I thought it would get better, or I would, and it just hasn’t.

  Warren, squeezing my hands: Bailey, it’s okay. Everyone is struggling right now. Drew and Katy, even.

  Me: What? They are? See? I don’t even know that. I hardly see Katy. I haven’t really seen her since before break. Just that dinner we had.

  Warren: And I’m sure she misses you. But we’re all really busy right now. Katy and Drew have a lot of responsibilities too, even though they don’t have to work here as much. It’s just hard right now. We’ll get through it.

  Me: What about you, Warren? I mean, you don’t seem like you’re tired like me. I know you’re supposed to be a genius and all, but it can’t be that easy for you, right? Please tell me it can’t. Lie. Just for my sanity.

  Warren, laughing: It’s not that easy, Bailey. I promise. It’s hard for me, too.

  Me: But why aren’t you tired?

  Warren looked at me for a long moment, like he was considering his answer very carefully. Then he stood and took something out of his back pocket. He handed it to me. It was a plastic bag with small orange pills inside. They looked like candy. I stared at it. Oddly, I wasn’t shocked or surprised, but I WAS curious. Scarily curious.

  Warren: I AM tired all the time, Bailey. But I have a little extra help. From these.

  Me: But . . . what are they? A prescription?

  Warren: A mixture of amphetamines and dextroamphetamines. And yes, a prescription.

  Me, knowing enough of those chemical names to understand now: Stimulants.

  Warren: Adderall. I was prescribed it after Mitch died. Couldn’t concentrate.

  Me: And it helps keep you from falling asleep on your books at night?

  Warren, nodding: And it makes me super focused and confident. Like I can do it all. And with the energy it gives me, I can.

  Me, shaking my head: Why didn’t you tell me before? I mean, don’t you trust me?

  Warren: No. Nothing like that. I guess I just hate admitting that maybe I can’t do it all on my own, you know?
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  Me, nodding: How much do you take?

  Warren: Whatever I want, really. Depends on the day and what I’m doing. I don’t remember what the prescription was for. Two a day, maybe? Doesn’t matter. I can always get more. It’s an easy trade for what we make, and so many people around here take them.

  Me: And it really helps you?

  In answer Warren took my hand and folded it into his, around the bag of pills. He said they were mine, and I could try it and see if it helped. He said it was absolutely up to me and also that I could trust him.

  They’re sitting here next to me as I write, and I feel like I’m in a cartoon with a devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other, thinking about what I should do. Emily is fast asleep, so there’s no worry about being found out. Warren told me if I want to take one, wait until tomorrow so I won’t be up all night.

  On one hand, it’s a pill. On the other, they could obviously help me right now. I could be like Warren and actually get through the day and do the things I need to do. I could stay on top of my work and have energy. I mean, look at him. He takes them, sometimes more than he was prescribed, and he’s doing so well. He’s practically a model student.

  Is he right? Can I trust him? Of course I can. I know that. Not only that, but he knows chemistry inside and out. If there was a real danger to these, he would have said so. Besides, he was prescribed this as medication. It’s meant to be used for focus.

  I tucked them under my pillow. I think I’ve decided. I’ll see how tomorrow goes.