I’m so dehydrated that twisting open the cap makes the joints in my hands ache. My entire arm shakes as I lift the bottle to my mouth and gulp. How much did we drink last night, exactly? We’ve gone out drinking plenty of times before. How did it go so out of control last night?
As though she reads my mind, Detective Mendez says, “It’s a bit early to say for sure, but the team thinks there might be traces of ecstasy and cocaine on the boat. It looks like some of the bottles of champagne have been tampered with.”
My mind is heaving. Or maybe that’s my stomach. Too much water, too fast. I lean over to one side and dry heave. Stacey. Ecstasy and coke. I don’t get it. The tears come, finally, and now I can’t stop them. I don’t understand. But I took care of the drug problem, I want to wail. I solved it. I confiscated Beth’s entire stash, threw it away. Stace threw the rest away. Something slices through the anguish. Anger. Beth. She must’ve been behind this somehow. She must’ve lied to me about being cut off by her supplier. She must still be selling.
I look around and don’t see her.
“Are you sure you don’t know anything about this?”
“I don’t. I have to go.” I have to go strangle Beth.
“Don’t do anything stupid, Lia,” Detective Mendez says, and there’s a weird note in her voice that makes me pause. I look at her for the first time, really look. She seems worried for me, but that can’t be right.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” I mumble.
“Lia,” she sighs. She steps closer, lowers her voice. “I’m on your side, can’t you see that? I see so much of myself in you. This isn’t your natural environment, and I’m not saying that because it’s a fancy school for rich kids, but because there’s something truly wrong here, and you’re sitting there neck-deep in shit and telling me it smells just fine. Who are you trying to protect? This isn’t your world, child. Give any of these kids here a chance and they’ll throw you under the bus, just to make sure this place keeps going, you know what I’m saying?”
If she’d told me that a week ago, I would’ve told her with all the confidence in the world that she’s wrong, that I have true friends here, that we’re not like what she thinks. But now I see that she’s right. Everything she said is true. Everything, that is, except for the fact that I’m the biggest snake in this nest of vipers. Sure, Beth’s a drug dealer, and sure, everyone else here seems to be involved in something shady, but the only killer around is me.
Except…
Maybe I’m not. Mendez said some of the bottles of champagne were tampered with. What if whoever did it didn’t just do it for fun? What if it was a deliberate attack?
“I gotta go.”
“Remember what I said, Lia,” Mendez says, and I’m sure I’m not imagining the sadness in her voice.
***
“Beth! Open up. BETH.” I slam my fists against the door, not caring how much it hurts.
Footsteps. Wild, hurried. The door swings open. She’s been crying. Is still crying. It catches me off guard.
“Was it you? Just tell me that. Were the drugs in the drinks from you?”
She lifts her small, streaming face to me and shakes her head. “I don’t know. I don’t think—I mean, I don’t—”
“What do you mean you don’t know?” I shouldn’t shout. The door’s closed, but these walls are thin, and we don’t know who might be listening. I know that, and yet it’s so very hard to keep my voice down. “You’re either still selling, or you’re not. Which is it?”
“I’m not!” she cries. “I swear I’m not, but you don’t get it. There’s only ever one seller around at any given time. And as far as I know, my supplier hasn’t found a replacement for me. I saw her the other week, and she complained to me about how good, reliable sellers are hard to come by, and she wouldn’t risk her entire business on some kid unless she’s a hundred sure they’re legit, and she was trying to get me to come back, but I didn’t, I swear.”
Maybe she’s telling the truth, or maybe she’s one hell of a liar.
“Okay, if you’re not selling anymore, why aren’t you sure if the drugs came from you?”
“I’ve been the only seller around for a whole year. It means the drugs must’ve come from me. Maybe one of my customers saved up for months and then dosed the drinks. When I heard that Stacey OD’ed, I just—I don’t know, I freaked out and came back here, and I still haven’t figured out yet what I’m gonna do. My supplier’s not picking up my calls—I think she knows I’m in deep shit and she’s cut off all communications with me, she’s ruthless like that, I guess they all have to be like that in this business—”
I tune out her babbling. I’m trying to think, but everything’s a snarled-up mess, and I can’t make heads or tails of anything. At the back of my mind, an insistent voice keeps whispering, Sophie. The same thing happened to Sophie.
But what does that even mean? Sophie took her own life. She was depressed. She wanted to end it all. It doesn’t have anything to do with this. Does it? I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to clear my head.
Beth’s still yammering away when I abruptly tell her I’m going.
I catch the bus to Draycott Medical, which is a lot larger than I thought it would be. Once I go through the sliding doors, I’m suddenly unsure. What am I even doing here? I haven’t really thought about what I’m coming here for. I’d thought—I don’t know, that I really wanted, needed, to see Stacey. But now that I’m here, with nurses and patients and doctors walking briskly around me, I’m suddenly hesitant. Is she even here? I’d just assumed—
I make my way to the information desk and ask the receptionist for Stacey’s name. She glances up at me, takes in my disheveled, ruined dress from the party, my rat’s nest hair, and her eyes narrow.
“Please,” I say, hoarsely. “I really need to see her.”
She sighs, shaking her head slightly. “Room 203. Down the hall and to your left.”
I hurry down the hall as directed, my heart torn between jumping and singing and squeezing at the thought of seeing Stacey. But when I get there, I hear voices from her room. Adult voices. I creep closer, wondering for a crazed half second if Detective Mendez’s here too. But through a small gap in the door, I see a blond woman.
“—what you get for sending her to that goddamn school,” a man’s saying.
“I did not ‘send’ her anywhere, she applied and got a robotics scholarship,” the woman snaps.
“And much good it did her, look at her—” The man’s voice breaks, and the woman moves out of sight, probably to hold him as he sobs.
I can’t go in there. I crane my neck, hoping to catch a glimpse of Stacey, but I can’t see much. I don’t want Stacey’s parents to see me. Not now, not like this. But before I leave the hospital, I go to the gift shop and buy a small teddy bear, which I leave outside of Stacey’s door.