A massive gust of wind blows past us, and I shriek a little. Drew laughs.
“Gotta get your East Coast sea legs,” he says.
“It’s fucking freezing!”
He laughs. “Oh, Hannah. It’s only the beginning of October. You just wait until February.”
We start across the wide expanse of Boston Common, which is filled with people even though it’s already cold as hell. I shiver, and he takes off his coat without a word and drapes it around my shoulders.
“You don’t have to—”
“Shut up,” he says with a soft smile.
“Thanks.”
His warmth seeps into me, caught in the fibers of the wool coat.
I wonder what Micah’s doing. He didn’t call me back last night—the first time that’s ever happened.
“It’s okay, though,” I say.
“What?”
“Am I talking out loud?”
“Yes.”
“Oh. Never mind.” I reach out my hands as the sun blazes out from behind a cloud and gives my face a big, warm kiss, so I kiss it back. “I am so much smarter than my sister!”
“Oh?”
“Yes. Yes. She’s fucking sweating it out at that jail school place Saint whatever and I am in Boston Common with you and we know the secret of everything.” I smile at him. “Mom told me I should never wear sensible shoes or business casual.”
He looks down at my canvas tennis shoes, no socks.
“You took her advice.”
The sad, it just swoops in and whispers, Your mother is dead, and I can’t breathe.
“Hey,” Drew says. “Hannah, hey. Let’s do my favorite thing. Yeah? It’ll be nice. I promise.”
“She’s dead.”
“I know.” He takes my arm. “I know,” he says again, very soft, but not in a patronizing grief voice. He is actually really listening. Hearing me. No one ever does that.
We pass a pretzel cart and just the thought of it makes me want to hurl. A guy is selling balloons. Little kids on a school trip, all connected to one another on harnesses, like some kind of primary-color chain gang.
When we reach the grass, Drew pulls me toward the green blades. “Lie down. But close your eyes.”
I lie down. I close my eyes. The grass feels prickly.
The sand falls faster, faster. The sun is warm, and all the sounds, it’s all happening.
“It’s all happening,” I whisper.
Bright warm light, an opening wider and wider, I open, my chest filling with the sun, and oh my God, how did I not see this before, see all of this?
“It’s all one,” I say. “Holy shit, I AM the walrus. They put this secret in the song! You are me and we are all together—fuck. No wonder Yoko fell for him. John Lennon, man. John fucking Lennon. Wow.”
I feel Drew squeeze my hand.
Everyone’s peak looks different. Mine is like what Mae says being in a space camp gravity tank is like.
Z
E
R
O
Gravity.
But then I feel it go. After a while. Like bubbles popping. Such pretty sky water. Then: gone.
I open my eyes and turn to Drew. He reaches up and holds a hand over me, blocking the sun so I can see him better.
Mae’s right: He kind of does look like a bad vampire.
“Peaked?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
“Good?”
“So good. Thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
The sun goes away and it’s immediately so much colder.
“Come on,” he says. “Let’s warm up.”
Drew helps me stand and we cross back to the path and I don’t even care that I’m leaning against him, I’m so tired.
I sigh. “I think my high is gone.”
He reaches into his pocket and hands me another pill. “This one’s on me. Just a five. A little top-up.”
“Thanks.”
In twenty minutes, I’ll be me again.
“What about you?” I ask.
“That parking spot is only good for three hours. I have to take care of Sunny. You go ahead. I’m good.” We near a pretzel cart and he stops, grabs his wallet. “You hungry?”
“God, no. Food and opiates do not mix.”
“Just one for me,” he says to the guy as we walk up. “Salt, please.”
Please.
“What kind of drug dealer are you?” I ask once we’ve left pretzel guy behind.
“What do you mean?”
“You say please.”
Drew has a shy smile, and it’s cute.
“I mean, you don’t have to be a dick to deal.”
“Tell me, please, how does someone become a dealer?”
He shrugs, pulls off a bit of pretzel. We walk along a path and it’s nice. Walking. Being in the sun.
“It just kind of … happened. After I came to Saint Francis, people started asking me to hook them up. They figured since I came from Dorchester, I’d have a way to get product.”
The neighborhood Mom grew up in, when she was really little. Rough around the edges, she called it. Dad was the one with the Mayflower money, but what Mom’s family did, getting out of Greece and making a life in America even though they hardly spoke the language—that was always more impressive to me.
“So you had a way to get what they wanted, or you, like, signed up with a cartel?”
He laughs. “My cousin has a thing going with pills.”
“Must be good money. That’s why you do it?”
He shrugs. “Yeah. Mostly. Rich kids at Saint Francis are gonna buy this shit from someone, right?”
“Like me.”
“You’re not like them.”
I roll my eyes. “Whatever.”
“Hey,” he says. I look at him. “You’re not. Like them. They just want to party. You … you know. There are extenuating circumstances.”
“I told you, I don’t want your pity, Drew.”
“You don’t have it.”
I reach out and pick a thick grain of salt from his pretzel, rub it between my fingers. I miss the smell of the ocean.
“You said you mostly do it for the money,” I say. “Why else?”
“Are you always this curious?”
I think about that. “It depends on the thing. Or the person. You’re very interesting.”
“I am?”
“Obviously. For one, you don’t wear boat shoes.” I smile. “But I think you’re stalling. So. Other than money, why do you deal?”
He shrugs. “It’s nice to have a … a role. You know. Like, I’m not a jock or a nerd or whatever.”
“That’s just sad, Drew.”
He balls up the paper from his pretzel and lobs it into a nearby can. “Someone’s gotta provide the good times. It might as well be me.”
My phone buzzes—a text from Mae. School must have just gotten out.
“My sister’s checking up on me.” I shove the phone back into my pocket. “I’ll make up a good story before I get home.”
“She’s not into this scene, huh?”
I snort. “No way. She’s crazy smart—wants to be an astronaut, like, literally a rocket scientist. My dad taught physics, so…”