"Less Drinking, More Thinking," I say, reading from one of the dozens of posters slapped up onto the cork board in Blackwell's main hallway.
"Stay Alive with a Designated Drive," says Rachel.
"Sex Can Wait, Masturbate."
Rachel peers at the board.
"I don't see that one," she says.
When she spots the huge grin on my face, she stomps on my shoe as hard as she can.
"Ow! Fuck. How can a body as scrawny as yours output that much force?"
"That's what you get for not doing your physics homework. Should have worn your boots today."
May is now Alcohol Awareness Month at Blackwell because some jackass couldn't keep his swimming trunks on at one of the "fully loaded" pool parties that apparently keep flying under the radar in plain sight. So when I spot a small, solitary flyer advertising abstinence amid a tree-killing sea of "alcohol is bad" propaganda leaflets, I'm a hell of a lot more sympathetic than I would have been this time last year.
"Maybe we should promote abstinence on campus," I say.
Rachel raises her stomping leg to waist height.
"Oh, this one actually exists." Her foot glides down onto my shoe. "No sex? What planet is this person from?"
"Maybe they're just suggesting that people at least have the decency to leave city limits before they get it on."
"Since when are you an advocate for decency?"
A passing tour group saunters down the hall, looking around at everything in sight except the pair of ghosts hiding out in the open. As usual, the tour guide is doing that thing where they talk while walking backwards and pointing at all the shit they think is important: this is where you sign your life away, this is where you hand over your wallet, this is where you take a shit, this is where you drink yourself into a coma, and this is where you go for counseling when you realize just how much you've fucked up by deciding to attend Blackwell Academy.
"Her," Rachel whispers. She points at a pale blonde wearing a black skirt and cardigan, a white blouse, a cross around her neck, and a hairstyle straight out of my grandma's 1960s high school yearbook. "I bet you five bucks she put it up there."
"Dude, you already have all my money. Besides, who gives a shit? You think anybody in this place is actually going to take that poster seriously? I'm surprised some of these girls aren't running day care centers from their dorm rooms by now."
A couple of heads from the tour group turn in my direction, half of them with awkward smiles on their faces, the other half surprised to see the face attached to the voice of truth. They follow their guide on a slow walk toward the art classroom. Rachel flips her hair and starts running her fingers through it. Her grooming session is interrupted by Justin who rolls up to her—literally rolls up on his skateboard—with a piece of paper in his hand and a huge grin underneath his dollar store glasses.
"Dude, I totally got a C+ in math thanks to you!" he says. "That's, like, above average."
Rachel leans in for a high five, sending Justin backwards on his board.
"See?" she says as he rolls away. "I always knew you were a cut above the rest."
"Yeah, I think he would benefit from a cut in a certain place," I mutter.
Nathan rounds the corner with Victoria on his hip. She sees me and drags him over to the other side of the hallway. He stops muttering long enough to curse me out.
"Yeah, keep talking to yourself," I say.
"Boys, boys, boys," says Victoria. "Settle down. Rachel, a word?"
"I'll be right back," says Rachel.
"Same," I say.
"Hey, Price," says Nathan.
He comes up to me and stands close enough to slap.
"How's it going, Chloe? It's been a while."
"Not long enough. You know I'm not interested in living in an episode of the fucking Sopranos, right?"
"Chill the fuck out, Price. I came here in peace."
Steph comes running out of the Drama Lab and pulls up next to us.
"I know it's none of my business," she says, "but I think maybe you two should just agree to stay away from each other."
"Yeah, it kinda is none of your fucking business," says Nathan, "but Chloe and I are pals. Right, Chloe?"
"Do pals have their dads hire goons to punch each other in the face at parties?"
"Look, that was Victoria, all right? Told some guy she'd hook him up if he unloaded on you 'cause she doesn't like it when Rachel brings you to her parties. Get off my nuts about that shit."
"You're full of shit. I bet your friend with benefits is on your nuts all the time."
"She's like a sister to me, you fucking pervert. You wouldn't understand. The only girl I've ever been with is Sam, and that's the goddamn truth. The fuck is wrong with you?"
"Same thing that's wrong with you. How many fucking meds are you on right now?"
"My dad has me on a regimen. It's for my own good. He has his reasons for the things he does, so leave him out of this. You don't see me fucking with your family, do you?"
"My family is already fucked. Anything you could do to my family would probably be an improvement at this point. And I didn't say shit about your dad."
"You accused him of hiring 'goons', you fucking pothead. If my dad wants something to happen, then that's what happens. You have parents too, right? Kids don't get to tell their parents what to do. How many fucking meds…Jesus Christ. You're a fucking chimney every day. I'm surprised you haven't upgraded to meth. That shit would make your face look a lot worse than a sucker punch."
He takes a heavy-looking paperweight out of his pocket and shows it to me.
"You see this?" he says. "That's called protection."
"Put that away," says Steph. "Mr. Madsen is right around the corner."
"Madsen is looking out for me. Good thing he is."
"The only thing he looks out for is trouble," I say.
"Yeah, that's why I'm glad he's on my side."
"Nathan," says Steph, "put that away."
To my surprise, he does.
"I, uh…need to ask you favor," he says. "It's about Sam." He looks at Steph. "Let's go in the science classroom. Ms. Grant isn't using it right now."
I take up a spot in front of the supply cabinets near the skeleton in the back of the classroom. Nathan stands on the other side of one of the tables. Steph is in the corner opposite me, trying to make herself invisible. Over by the fish tank stands Brooke Scott in a light saber hoodie and protective goggles, pouring liquids between test tubes and beakers.
"Don't mind me," she says. "Just using the science classroom for its intended purpose."
Nathan leans over the table on his palms.
"My dad has the entire area locked down. I can't do anything without him knowing about it. I was wondering if maybe you and Rachel could drop me off at the airport when you go to Los Angeles this summer. I'm gonna fly to New Hampshire."
Rachel slips into the classroom. Brooke stares dagger at her. Rachel ignores her.
"You didn't tell me we were going to L.A.," I say.
"I just finalized my modeling gig with Victoria's help," she says. "We're on for the city of angels."
"All you'd have to do is drop me off," says Nathan. "I wouldn't bother you at all."
I walk over and stand next to the skeleton. I have more in common with this dude right now than anyone else in the room. I didn't think Nathan would, though—he comes up to me and shows me a photo he keeps inside his jacket: a picture of Sam with a little boy in a onesie who looks just like Nathan.
"He's never seen me," says Nathan. "I want the choice to break the mold. Be a good father to my son."
I feel like something should be happening inside me. Nothing does. I hand back the photo and take out one of my own.
"That's my dad. Dead. My best friend. As good as dead. And there's me. The mold is broken into pieces, and here I am." I take the photo from him. "I'm not responsible for getting Sam pregnant, I'm not responsible for righting your father's wrongs, and I am not going to take responsibility for reuniting a family I have nothing to do with."
Nathan stares at the skeleton. He blinks.
"I just thought maybe you'd want to help out since you have experience being disconnected from your father."
I put the skeleton's arm around my shoulder.
"Maybe the best way for you to break the mold is by giving your son the gift of not missing something he never knew."
Glass clatters against a table, but doesn't break. Nathan looks at his shoes.
"I guess I'll just have to find another way," he says to the hallway.
The front door opens to admit Ms. Grant who seems surprised to see so many people in the classroom so early before the start of the class period. She places a thick stack of books on her desk and takes a seat.
"I'm calling in that favor," says Brooke.
"What favor?"
She takes off her plastic goggles.
"The one you said you'd owe me when Rachel did a line of coke right in front of me."
That gets Ms. Grant's attention. Rachel clasps her arm and looks out the windows.
"I heard you talking out in the hallway," says Brooke. "I think Rachel should join a school organization and do something to give back to the community."
"That's it?"
"Doing the right thing—that's it."
"You're right," says Rachel.
"You don't need to state the obvious," says Brooke.
When we file out into the hallway, Little Miss Hair Swirl is still there, stapling a poster up in the middle of the mess of advertisement spam. While Rachel strikes up a conversation with her, I size up my artist's canvas: Before You Get in Bed, Plan Ahead.
"Chloe," says Rachel, "this is Kate. She was wondering if we were interested in helping her promote abstinence on campus."
"What are you doing?" says Kate.
I put the cap back on my marker and slide it into my pocket.
"I was just going to give back to the community by improving our message."
"What was your improvement, Chloe?" asks Rachel.
"Before You Get in Bed, Plan Ahead, By Giving Head."
"Maybe not," says Kate.
"You'll have to excuse my girlfriend," says Rachel. "She struggles with the muse that inspires her. She's not a student here, but I am, and we're both interested in doing something to give back to the campus community."
"Okay," says Kate.
"Teen pregnancy has been an issue on campus," says Rachel. "I'd like to help the girls here be more responsible and make informed decisions."
"You mean the girls here have been getting pregnant?" asks Kate.
"Just one," says Rachel, "but that's one more than we needed. She ended up leaving campus."
"That sounds awful," says Kate. "Well, you can come to the office with me and register the group for next year."
"I'd love to. Wouldn't you love to, Chloe?"
"Anything to keep the people here from breeding."
"Fantastic."
"I've always said this place needs an enema."
"Chloe."
"Did I say enema? I meant rectal volcano."
"Chloe has a way with words," Rachel says to Kate. "The downside is that she has no control over the muse that inspires her."
"You don't have to control her," says Kate, "just learn to live with her responsibly. That's what abstinence is all about."
"Wisdom and inspiration," says Rachel. "A match made in heaven."
That gets a smile from Kate. Rachel puts one arm around Kate's shoulders. The fingernails attached to the hand on her other arm dig into my waist as I join them in their slow walk down the hallway.