Drop (24 page)

“Knew you’d be game. Survey the goods.” The lanky dude pulls out a plastic press-lock bag, teeny-tiny, a couple of inches across. I can just about see something white in it. “2CBs. They’re a bit trippy.”

“Nice.” Finn takes the baggie and gives the weed to Slinky. “There’s an eighth there. Here’s yours, Vi.”

Violet takes a baggie full of pills from Finn.

“My hero.” She hides it in her bra, kisses him on the cheek and gets up to leave. I move behind the shed so she won’t see me, then start to cross the field, aiming for a gap in the fence where I can get out and walk the long route around the school grounds and back in through the front gate.

No one suspects the butterfly. They never dream that a creature so enchanting could be so deadly. The Monarch is captivating, intricately beautiful; its striking orange and black patterned wings are one of nature’s greatest works of art, but it has a secret. During its time as a caterpillar, it feeds on toxic milkweed, making it poisonous to birds and mammals and dangerous to the human heart. If Finn were a butterfly, I know which he would be.

It’s all starting to make sense. That day at the mountainboarding festival when Finn came back with a black eye. A deal gone wrong. And there was that time I saw Violet give him something. Money for drugs? I’ve been so caught up thinking they were flirting I haven’t had room in my head for the truth.

Finn may not be cheating on me.

But he’s dealing.

He lied about cutting out the drugs.

This is so messed up.

I schedule an emergency chat with Sal for this evening. I don’t tell her about the drugs, only that he lied about Violet and that I saw them together.

“Ditch him. Now,” she says, straight to the point as usual. I sigh and she asks, “Do you love him?”

“Thought I did.”

“Look, it boils down to this:
You can’t be in love if you’re not in love.
”

Her voice sounds tinny over the phone.

“That’s deep, Sal.”

“Hey, people pay for advice like that. You’re getting it for free. Seriously, he’s bad news. Cut him loose.”

“It’s just, he’s got a hold on me.”

“Well, get unheld.”

“OK. I’ll see you in a few weeks.”

“I’ll fire up the awesomobile to get you from the coach station.”

“You’ve still got that wreck?”

“Of course. It’s been in Mum’s garage, sleeping.”

“All right.”

“All right, what?”

“I’ll end it.”

“Good girl.”

I’ll do it. I’ll break up with him. I will.

May brings a mini-heatwave. Sweat trickles down my neck as I stand at the foot of the steps to Finn’s front door, rehearsing my break-up speech. Its not quite summer but it’s typical British weather. Buzzing once, then again, it occurs to me that it’s lunchtime on a hot Saturday and he probably isn’t even home. He called me repeatedly last night. Eventually, I switched off my phone. I want to do this face to face.

A blurry figure appears behind the glass. Seeing my reflection in the silver of the ornate door knocker, I straighten out my hair.

“Oh, hey.” Isaac’s hair has grown shaggier and falls into his eyes. Stubble casts a shadow on his chin. He’s wearing shorts and a vest, his earphones draped around his neck. His skin glistens with sweat. I knew this might happen: that Isaac could be here. I’d considered getting Finn to meet me somewhere neutral, but on some stupid level I want to see his room again, to smell its boy smell, to commit it to memory, because even if we’re breaking up, the relationship has changed me and I want to remember that. To keep the good bits. Like hanging out in his room, laughing and kissing and feeling good, and his touch, and the slow drum of his heartbeat as I lay on his chest, listening. And to junk the rest of it. The lies, the fall from grace… Maybe it’s twisted, but it’s how I feel.

“Hey,” I say.

Look at me. I think you’re amazing.
The scene replays in my head and my stomach somersaults.

Isaac wipes sweat from his forehead with the hem of his vest. “I’ve been running,” he says, looking nervous.

“Um, OK.”

“Do you want to come in? It’s three hundred degrees out there. I’ll get you some juice. Or we have lemonade. Or—”

“Actually, I came to see Finn.”

“Oh, right. Course. He’s upstairs.”

Isaac moves aside and I head up to Finn’s room.

Finn puts down the Xbox controller when he sees me standing in the doorway. Slinky’s leaning out the window, smoking a joint.

“Carla, you’ve got to see this. Finn’s found the sickest video on YouTube. This kid’s sitting in the park and this eagle swoops down and picks him up.”

“It’s fake. Got to be,” Finn says.

I say nothing.

Slinky stubs out the joint on the outside wall. Ash rains onto the hedges below. Finn and Slinky exchange not-so-subtle looks.

“OK. So I’ll be leaving then. See you later.”

“Bye, mate.”

Finn watches until Slinky’s out of the room, then pulls me inside and shuts the door behind us. He pins me against the door and moves to kiss me but I turn my head away.
Be strong. Got to be strong.

“Is your phone broken?” he asks, fiddling with the change in his pocket. And the pills. I bet they’re still swimming around among the debris in there. A little bag of lies.

I shake my head.

Light slices through the window and plays with Finn’s dark hair, turning it a thousand colours of liquorice, plum, chocolate, jet black. My pulse quickens.

“I thought we were OK.”

I shake my head. Better to say nothing than something I don’t mean, like,
Come here, I want you, I need you.
Those feelings are just a trick, stupid chemical processes making my heart and body want him. But my brain has to take control now.

“If my brother’s been spreading stuff about me again, I’ll kill him.”

“It’s not about Isaac,” I say. I take a breath. “I saw you with Violet—”

“Nothing’s going on with Violet.”

“Nothing?”

“No, course not.”

“So it was someone else with her at the cinema? Your twin?”

“Shit.” Finn rubs his eyes and then his temples. He sits on the bed.

“And it wasn’t you selling stuff in the Asbestos Shed and taking pills from Slinky? You said you wouldn’t do it any more.”

“I sold Violet some Ritalin. She uses it to stay awake, to revise. She gets depressed without it. Withdrawal or something. I’m not
with her
though. Not at all. I just get it for her.”

“You’re not seeing her, you’re just dealing to her. Right. OK,” I say, like saying it aloud will straighten it out in my mind, but it just seems even more messed up. “Wow, that’s so much better,” I say caustically. “Finn, I don’t think this is—”

“No, Carla, don’t do this. I’ll make it up to you.”

“I don’t trust you. You said you would quit the drugs but I can smell weed. You were smoking just now with Slinky and he gave you those 2CBs or whatever the hell they were yesterday. You’re dealing too!” I sit on the bed next to Finn. My breath catches in my throat along with my words, but I have to keep going. “You say you never went out with Violet, but that’s bullshit. You’re a liar, Finn.”

He takes my hand. “Come on, I opened your eyes. I helped you.”

“But the thing is, you thought I needed help. Even without all the other issues, the fact that you thought I needed changing says enough.”

“You wanted it.”

“I guess I did. More fool me. We’re done.”

“But I love you, tiger.”

“Just another lie though, isn’t it?”

He shakes his head and I can’t tell if it’s in response to the question or just exasperation.

Then I realize I’m guilty too. Not of dealing or lying or whatever, but of wanting him to be someone he’s not. I wanted the perfect, popular boyfriend. I loved the
idea
of us, but I’ve been clinging to a fantasy.

He puts his hand on my back and pulls me closer. His eyes are so dark I can’t see where the pupils end and the irises begin. Drugs or not, his eyes always look the same. Endless gorgeous abysses. I press my eyelids closed, not wanting to fall into them again like so many times before.

His hand curves around my neck and he leans in to whisper, “No lie.”

Then it’s my turn to shake my head.
Got to be strong
. I reach in my pocket for his iPod. Place it on the desk.

“It’s over, Finn.”

On the kerb in front of the Mastersons’ untamed front garden, Isaac’s washing his car. I do my best don’t-try-to-talk-to-me-I’m-in-a-hurry walk but fail spectacularly.

“You OK?”

“Not really,” I snap.

“I came out here. I didn’t want to, er, disturb…”

“You’ve done enough of that.” As soon as I say it, I regret it. It’s not his fault. “Sorry. Bad day. You were right, Finn’s not good for me.”

I feel the inevitable, uncontrollable shake as I try to resist the emotion and close the floodgates. But the tears just bulldoze through. Isaac goes to put a hand on my shoulder, then takes it away like he can’t quite decide what to do. Funny thing is, I don’t feel at all embarrassed about him seeing me like this. I do, however, need to get home quick sharp, out of the vicinity of Finn. Out of the Finncinity.

I take a deep breath. “Thanks for telling me.”

“Er, no problem. I’m so—”

“No, don’t apologize. It’s me … I’m just…” I sigh. “Look. Sorry for what I said just now but I just broke up with your brother and this is weird, talking to you, and really all I want to do is go home.”

“Yeah, course. You’re right. I, um, hope you feel better.”

But I don’t go straight home. I go to the park and while salty tears stream down my cheeks, I flip and roll and tumble until all my muscles ache and twinge and the sun gets low and I know that once I’m home I’ll fall straight to sleep.

Post–break-up advice: Take pain, screw up pain into ball, throw ball away.

But it’s not that simple.

I miss Finn, but more than that, I guess I’m grieving for what I’ve lost out on – the dream – the
perfect life
. Because that life doesn’t exist, does it? So now I feel hollow, foolish,
alone
.

It’s like I’ve come down with a terrible illness. A serious case of Woe-is-me. Symptoms include:

1. snot-pillow. You know what I’m talking about. Crusty-salty snot-pillow. And I don’t even change it because that would be like admitting I’m over it when clearly I will stay heartbroken for ever.

2. max-lyrical. Every song I hear is relevant. I find poignant meaning in jingles for cat litter, theme songs to Saturday-night game shows, and every ballad is CLEARLY about us.

3. sadvertising. Adverts featuring puppies/toasters/old people are now as emotional to watch as
Schindler’s List.

4. pine-language. I now communicate exclusively by grunts and shoulder-shrugs.

There’s a week until half-term, then study leave and EXAMS.

One more week of Finn.
Just get through it
.

Let me rephrase:
AAaAaaAAaaarrrrgggghhhhhhhhh!!!!! Kill me now.

In the common room, I sit with Lauren and Sienna, right back where I started this year. Across from us, Violet drapes herself over Finn. He’s not that into it, but he doesn’t seem to hate it either. She
is
beautiful after all. Maybe he’s hoping it’ll make me jealous. And I guess I am, just a little. OK, I am. A lot.

Finn glances at me. My stomach twists.

He passes by where Lauren, Sienna and I sit. Hesitates. Looks like he’s about to say something. I drop my gaze.
Can’t do this
. He walks on, out of the room, Violet trailing behind him. She stops. Turns back.

“So, Finn’s taking me to the Blitz Board Fest on Saturday. Doesn’t he look hot when he’s boarding? He’s so talented.”

I can’t help but screw up my face.

“You didn’t really think it would work out between you and him, did you? That’s cute.”

I look up. It takes all my willpower to stop myself ripping her arm off and stabbing her in the eye with her own perfectly painted nails.

I’m
breaking inside
.

Violet
actually
smiles. I’m afire. All my muscles tense. I stand up. Look her in the eye.