For me, drugs were the only answer. People might say that's pathetic or naïve, but fuck off. You have no idea what it was like to be me after people found out what I did to Jimmy. I had nothing and no one. I had almost killed my best friend. I couldn't even imagine what he felt, paralyzed for life. He had been robbed of his whole life without even dying.

Some stupid crap stunt of mine, some asshole Spinner-prank, some bull shit childish blame-game… I was always a fucking idiot, and this time my antics had destroyed lives. This was bigger than making Mrs. Kwan cry or stealing an MP3 player. This time, I was a life-ruiner. I was unforgivable.

So what the fuck would you do? What would you do if everyone you ever cared about turned their back on you? Couldn't even look you in the eye? What if the only person who called himself your friend was Jay fucking Hogart? You'd do a lot of drugs, that's what. If you were kicked out of school, with nothing to do with your free time but think about how you'd lost everything, you'd get fucked up. All. The. Time.

I was drunk at work that day, as I often was, and she was there again, as she often was. Alone, surrounded by books that I rarely saw her open. She never said much, just blushed slightly each time I refilled her coffee mug. I knew she was watching me, but I didn't know why. Most people tried not to look at me. Most people didn't want to be anywhere near me.

And on that day she surprised me, because she followed me. I went out to the back steps behind the Dot for my break, smoking a cigarette and nursing a flask of Jack. She crept up from around the corner, slinking cautiously down the alley. She walked carefully, her thin legs taking each step like it was bringing her closer to a monster who might bite. But with that look in her eyes, I kind of got the feeling she wanted to be bitten.

I had no idea what to say to her as she stood in front of me, chewing on her lip and staring at me with an empty face. I stared back.

"Can I have some of that?" she asked, pointing towards my flask.

I looked up at her, tracing her bare legs and thin frame with my eyes until they met her face. It was her alright. The same Emma Nelson. But really, how could this be Emma?

"Get your own," I responded.

She folded her arms and rolled her eyes. "Easier said than done. I don't exactly have any nineteen-year-old friends."

I shrugged as I chugged, waiting for her presence to suddenly make sense to me. But it never did. We sat together in silence. I could hear dishes clanking inside the kitchen as they were washed. Cars driving past in front of the building. Noises distant from us in our lonely moment in the alley. The wind slapped stray blonde locks against her pouting face. She tugged uncomfortably at the short green skirt that kept riding up.

What did she want from me? I didn't know then and I don't think I ever will.

"I'm sorry you got suspended," she said, circling her toe in the dirt and gravel of the alley.

In retrospect, I realize she was probably trying to be nice, but at that point in my despair, it only sounded like a sick joke. I'm sorry you had to watch Rick die, I wanted to tell her. But I didn't. I only threw back another fiery gulp of whiskey and stared at the ground. At her clean white sneakers.

"Whatever," I said.

With a deep breath, the awkward quiet finally drove her to start walking away, her fingers clasped together. She was the only person besides Jay who'd been nice to me since the shooting, and I was just letting her leave.

"Wait, Emma," I said. Her name felt strange on my tongue. I barely knew her outside of English class. She turned around and looked at me. "I can get you alcohol, if you want. You can come to this party with me on Friday."

She paused for a moment. I felt like a little bit of color was returning to her ghost-like face. "Sure," she answered.

And then she left me, with my whiskey and my loneliness.