"The truth is rarely pure and never simple."

-Oscar Wilde

Four

"Thank you for meeting me. I know that it's unusual for a Saturday."

It was unusual for a teacher to request a meeting with a student on a Saturday. William received an email Thursday from his English professor asking to meet and discuss his mid-term project. His class was Intermediate Fiction Writing, where William had to create a one-hundred-page story in the span of a semester. His first fifty pages had been due on Thursday, and William turned them in on time. He didn't know what the meeting would be about, but felt uneasy that it was taking place outside of school hours. William shifted his weight in his seat, trying not to appear concerned. He didn't know yet if he was actually pulling it off.

"It's no problem," William replied, "but it did seem a little strange. So, what's going on?"

William's teacher, Professor Langan, cleared her throat. She was looking down and thumbing through documents at her desk. The meeting was taking place in her office, which consisted of her desk and two large bookshelves on either side of the lone window. It was a cramped space but well kept, with seemingly everything in its rightful place. The walls had the professor's framed diploma and a seaside landscape adorning it but nothing else. Not even a potted plant in the corner for decoration.

The professor herself was a woman of about forty years old and a little contradictory in her own appearances. She had striking dark features, off-set by pale skin which made her quite attractive. However, she seemed a few decades behind fashion, wearing drab, outdated clothes. It was almost as if she stepped out of one of those sepia-toned photos from the early age of photographic technology.

William studied her for what seemed like five or ten minutes, but was probably only thirty seconds. She finally looked up from what she had been reading, and offered him a tight smile.

"Right, sorry. I was just reading one of the projects that was turned in on Thursday." Langan's voice trailed off over the last few words. She held up the pages in front of her and William recognized them instantly as his own work. "Look familiar?" Langan asked.

"Of course, it's mine." William responded bluntly.

"Indeed it is," Langan countered, "however, I'm afraid it's a little incomplete and well, lacking the usual substance that I've come to expect from you in the short time we've had this semester."

William furrowed his brow, doing his best to remain stoic. "Not sure what you mean, professor."

"Come on, Will. I know you're not stupid, so stop playing like it." Langan remarked. She flipped through some of the pages then turned the packet in his direction. "That sentence," Langan started, pointing on the page, "stuck out in my mind for some reason. 'Deep beneath the rolling waves, in labyrinths of coral caves.' It's very poetic, almost too poetic for your style."

"Maybe I had a moment of inspiration?" Will responded, giving a light shrug.

Professor Langan laughed and nodded her head a few times. "Yeah, maybe. Maybe Roger Waters did too when he first wrote it."

It was Will's turn to chuckle now. He hung his head for a moment, thinking to himself how he may have just screwed things up royally. Still, it wasn't over yet, so he composed himself as nicely as he could.

"Didn't know you were a Pink Floyd fan, professor." Will replied.

"I'm not," Langan remarked, standing up now and smoothing out her pants suit, "but like I said, he stood out way too much. The internet makes it easy to confirm any suspicions these days, especially when it comes to plagiarism."

"Come on now," William started, leaning forward and turning the packet back in her direction, "one line in fifty pages? That's hardly plagiarism, that's just listening to music and accidentally transcribing it. I'll take the line out, problem solved."

Professor Langan leaned back against the windowsill, shaking her head. "It's not just the one line, Will. Compared to your earlier work, this seems rushed and lackadaisical. You've got a great foundation for your story, but I can tell this is something you just typed up without much thought. Your language is simple, you repeat the same words for your descriptions and the dialogue is unnatural. All your characters seem to have the same voice."

Listening to all the criticisms that the professor rattled off, Will couldn't help but feel inadequate. It wasn't his goal to be an author or anything like that, but he still had a drive to be good at everything that he did. He thought creative writing could be one of those things, but perhaps he was wrong.

All of the sudden, Langan softened her stance, maybe catching a glimpse of disappointment in Will's eyes. She sat back down and took the pages, sorting them back together and placing them aside.

"Look," Langan started, folding her hands together, "to be honest, it's still one of the better entries I've received. I don't know, maybe I just hold you and a select few up to a higher standard. I'm not going to report you for stealing a line from a song. God knows that harsh actions shouldn't be taken against students at a time like this."

Langan looked uncomfortable, fidgeting as she finished her thought. Will noticed it, assuming she was mentioning the girl that was found dead this morning. The silence built for a minute, neither one of them quite knowing where to pick up the conversation. Will slowly rose to his feet, not wanting to bask in the uncomfortableness anymore.

"I'll make the changes. I'll revise everything and blend it together seamlessly for the final result." Will proclaimed confidently. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention."

He stuck his hand out, and the professor rose to her feet and obliged him with a firm shake. She gave another tight smile.

"Sure, Will. I look forward to seeing the result." Langan stated.

Will turned to leave, but Langan kept her grip tight, which forced Will to turn back. He looked down at their hands with some surprise.

"Just one more thing," Langan added, "are you, umm…holding?"

A Saturday night at 117 Prospect Road meant that the alcohol would be flowing and the music would be loud. So loud that on occasion, the cops were called to remind everyone of how late it was and that there better not be any underage drinking going on. Eventually, Will and his roommates got the idea to setup the sound system down stairs and keep the basement door open, letting the music filter throughout the house but not loud enough to disturb any neighbors. That and making sure that nobody lingered outside for too long usually kept trouble from stopping by to interrupt the proceedings.

Tonight, however, was making Will a little bit nervous. He was anticipating it being a little quieter tonight, after the death of the female student on campus. Her death seemed to have the opposite reaction however, as the usual gathering was one of the biggest that took place at the house since Will and his roommates moved in two years earlier. He heard several people making toasts and drinking in Nicole's honor, though he doubted how many people there actually knew her. In Will's mind, it was less about people needing to feel alive after a tragedy and more about them just finding another excuse to get drunk.

Another cause for concern was the conclusion of his meeting with Professor Langan. He knew that the drugs had been widely used around campus and around town, but he was never directly approached before, and certainly not by a teacher. Will wasn't a show-off or a grandstander; the less people knew about his involvement, the better. The last thing he needed was attention from the police or anyone other than the small circle who knew the truth. A circle small enough that his own roommates weren't involved.

He did his best to put on a party face and show that none of these concerns weighed heavily upon him. So he found himself in the center of the living room, surrounded by his four roommates and about a half-dozen other people. All eyes were on him and one of his roommates Teddy, who were sitting opposite each other in wooden dining room chairs, set up on either side of a ping-pong table. The two were embroiled in a high-stakes game of Beirut, where the loser would have to take a drink every time the winner said so for the rest of the night. It was Will's own idea, an attempt to fit in with the collegiate culture, and unbeknownst to anyone else, he practiced. Otherwise, he would never have bothered playing. Also unbeknownst to his roommates, he had never gotten drunk, at least not while at Clearview.

So while everyone was clamoring at what a beating that poor Teddy was taking, to Will, it was just what he expected. Will still had seven cups standing on his side, while Teddy was down to his last.

"Remember the Boston Red Sox comeback in the playoffs?" Teddy asked the group before pointing at Will. "He's about to do his best Yankees impersonation. Choke…choke…choke…"

Teddy began chanting while banging his fist lightly on the table, as to not upset the cups. Teddy was by far the most competitive of the housemates, as any natural athlete would be. He put on his best face, but Will knew that deep down, he was hating this. It made Will smirk, and he began to bounce the ball on the table as a means of taunting Teddy.

"You should know by now Teddy," Will remarked, "my balls always come through in the clutch."

Will took a beat after he said it, thinking that it may have sounded better in his head than it did out loud. He stopped, took a breath and raised his hand while closing his right eye. He casually tossed it down onto the table and pushed back his chair, getting to his feet as the ball bounced right into Teddy's final cup. The crowd around them cheered as Will raised a single fist in the air. It was silly, but the attention did cause him to genuinely grin.

Teddy, on the other hand, threw his chair back violently and smacked his cup away, sending it and the little beer that was in it sailing across the living room into another group of people. When Teddy got angry, people tended to stop in their tracks and watch silently. Curt, another roommate who had been watching, laughed and slapped Teddy on the shoulder.

"C'mon man, let it be," Curt said, "Saturday's for drinking and getting laid, not getting pissed. Unless it's pissed drunk."

Curt's smile was big and goofy, and had a tendency to diffuse any situation. Teddy nodded his head and cracked his knuckles, as he usually did when trying to calm himself down. Will moved through the people there, obliging Curt with a fist bump and motioning at Teddy to drink up. Teddy grabbed his beer bottle, raising it to Will before taking a long swig. Will could only revel in his victory for a moment before he felt a vibration against his leg. He reached into his pocket and took out his phone. It lit up when he pressed one of the buttons, allowing him to read the message he received.

"Hey Curt," Will began while placing his phone in his pocket, "I temporarily bestow all alcoholic control over Teddy to you."

Curt grinned and rubbed his hands together. "Oh I won't let you down. Hey Teddy, guess what…"
Will backed up out of the crowd and headed out of the living room. He did his best to move through the crowd unhindered, although he was pulled into a momentary 'hello' hug by a short Hispanic looking girl who he thought was named Paula. While they served as a good distraction, one of the downfalls of these parties was that so many people came in and out, it was difficult to keep track of the names and faces. Because he lived here, people felt like he was their friend.

After freeing himself, he moved past her and out the side door that led to the driveway. Right away, he could tell he was not alone. Nobody was supposed to be back here, or linger outside in general. It was an assault on his senses that he was experiencing, hearing the sound of retching and the unmistakable smell that soon followed. Will pinched his nose, letting out what could only be described as a disgusted sigh.

"Dammit…" Will muttered. He rounded the corner, ready to tell this person that he didn't care how sick they were, they needed to get out of here. "…look, if you can't hold your liquor, maybe this isn't the best place…"

Will stopped in mid-sentence when he saw that the person wasn't alone. There were two girls; the one that had been puking and the one who was acting as caretaker. The caretaker was too busy clearing loose strands of hair from the sick girl to notice Will or at least acknowledge him. The sick girl had one knee down in the dirt and a hand on her friend's arm, but Will couldn't tell if she was trying to push the girl away or use her for leverage. In the middle of flailing limbs, the girl kneeling accidentally knocked her friend's glasses off. It was while picking up her glasses that someone finally noticed Will, and it caused her to fall backwards onto her butt while letting out a surprised yelp.

"Oh! Hey, I didn't see you there," the girl said.

Will stepped forward and extended a hand, which she happily took and used to get back to her feet. She dusted herself off and turned back to the sick girl.

"I don't think we're supposed to be back here," the caretaker girl started while helping her friend up, "but the bathroom was occupied. Do me a favor and let's just keep this our little secret?"

He stifled a chuckle and took a step back. The area still smelled of whatever came out of that one girl.

"Sure," Will agreed with a nod, "our little secret. Just us three, and whoever else is coming from around that corner."
Will pointed in the direction that he came from, where sure enough a guy was approaching. It wasn't one of Will's roommates, but the nod from Will was a sign that he knew him. The two girls looked from Will to the other guy, then back to Will. The helper guided her friend out of the backyard, but the girl with the glasses gave one last look back.

"See you around school. I'm Dawn by the way."

The girl flashed Will a smile before disappearing around the corner. The guy passed them, craning his head to look them up and down as they went. Will shook his head but the guy just laughed and raised his hand up for a high five.

"You tryin' to score a three-way?" The guy asked. He put his hand down after Will left him hanging. "Loosen up, it's a party, right? Messed up about that dead girl though."

"People die, Jeff." Will stated bluntly. He turned and walked further into the backyard, towards a weathered picnic table and benches. "It's no different anywhere else. What do you have for me?"

Will leaned back against the edge of the table as Jeff quickly looked from side to side. Satisfied that nobody else was there, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash.

"Fat stack for ya. Actually sold a shit ton today," he said while smacking the cash down into Will's hand, "ya know, probably cuz of that Nicole chick offin' herself. People wanna get high and just forget what happened."

Will counted the money, not really paying attention to what Jeff was saying, but he nodded nonetheless. He split the stack and pocketed the majority, holding the rest up in his hand.

"You sell to anyone unusual lately?" Will inquired. "Anyone other than a student?"

Will waited for Jeff's reaction, which seemed to be one of confusion. He did notice Jeff hesitate before answering.

"What? No. Why you ask?" Jeff responded, crossing his arms, which told Will that he was getting defensive. After staring at him for a few seconds, Will finally handed Jeff the money that was still out.

"Just making sure." Will stated, as Jeff's posture became more relaxed again. "With the cops and reporters around today, we can't afford to be careless."

Jeff nodded in agreement, turning around for a split second then back to Will.

"Yeah I know. I sold a lot today, but all students, all regulars," Jeff declared, "now if it's alright with you, I'm gonna get back to that party. You coming?"

"Give me a minute," Will said, taking out his phone, "I need to make a call. See you in there."

Jeff pocketed the money discretely, even though it was only the two of them there. He thought it was just the two of them at least, but a third party had been watching the entire time from his spot behind the loose fence post between the two giant bushes near the back. Once he saw Jeff go back inside, the third man decided to step out and cautiously approach Will.

"I really don't like that kid." Will said, looking over his shoulder at the man approaching.

He was a little too old to be a student, and didn't dress like one that went to the school. He wore a black hooded sweatshirt and blue jeans with rips in the legs, but not the kind of rips that were already there for the sake of style. Taking off his hood revealed a man in his late twenties, possibly early thirties, with a dark complexion that matched his eyes. He wore a blue and white bandanna around his neck, partially tucked into the sweatshirt but sticking out enough to know that it was there. He sat down at the far end of the bench.

"Why you put up with him then?" The man asked.

"He serves his purpose." Will said with a light shrug. "Rich kids like to spend their parents' money on things they're not supposed to. Like Pure, for example."

As Will said the word, he pulled out a small, black film canister from the inside pocket of the thin, gray jacket that he wore. He handed the canister to the man, as the man handed him back some money in return.

"You got the market cornered, rich and poor," the man stated, getting up from his seat, "they teach you that in business classes?"

Will shook his head. "Wrong major, Narciso. I'm going to be a writer. You know, inspire people."

"Whatever you say," Narciso said, "see you next week. Enjoy your white boy party."

The comment caused Will to genuinely laugh. He stood up straight and turned towards Narciso, who was just leaving the yard.

"Happy selling."

Will walked back to the side door of the house, making sure that the money he received wasn't sticking out. Once back inside, he'd have to deal with drunken revelers who thought they knew him, but at least he could make Teddy drink however much he wanted. He was sure that Curt already made him drink himself into oblivion and was probably passed out somewhere. Will never quite knew what he would walk into at his house on a Saturday. So he prepared himself for anything, opened the door and headed back inside.