I had signed up for advanced calculus and economics at the University of the South. Along with those two college classes, I was taking four high school classes, including AP trigonometry and AP chemistry. I’d wanted to take an art course about color theory but couldn’t fit it in the same schedule Oliver and Jenna had taken their senior year.
To stay awake to study for my calc quiz, I took two Adderall pills Ben had gotten for me. He knew who to get them from. I didn’t take pills regularly or anything, and I had no stash, but it wasn’t the first time I’d used them. If I was going to be the best student, then I needed to be alert when it mattered most. After I made it through the test—I think I did okay, though I wonder if I’ll ever find out—I was practically shaking from the stress. My right eyelid was twitching, and all I wanted to do was sleep, but I was too on edge.
Ben called after I frantically texted him about my freakish eye twitch. “Babe, you need to relax.”
“What if I failed the quiz? You know how much I hate calc.”
“Tee, you knew the material backward and forward. I know you did great. It’s Friday night. Come outside with me.”
I met him on the Card House porch, where he kissed me long and slow, then twined his hand with mine. I handed him my sweater to put in his backpack, in case it got chilly later. Then he led me toward the woods beyond the soccer field.
“What are we doing?” I asked.
“Relaxing,” he said with a big goofy grin. He patted his backpack, the black one I had bought him for his seventeenth birthday over the summer.
In the woods, Ben found a small clearing. He collected sticks and built us a cozy campfire, like we had done on a few other occasions. From his backpack, he nonchalantly pulled a two-liter of Coke and a bottle of Jack Daniel’s.
“Where’d you get that?” I exclaimed.
“Brought it from home. My brother got it for me.” Ben mixed us each a cocktail, and we leaned against a fallen log, staring up at the stars above the lush trees. With each sip of Jack, I relaxed into the romantic atmosphere. My eye stopped twitching. I took my ponytail out of its tight knot, letting my hair tumble down my back. I felt like I’d lost ten pounds.
My boyfriend unbuttoned my shirt and slipped a hand inside as I loosened his blue tie and unzipped his khakis. He pushed up my plaid skirt, pulled down my panties, rolled on a condom, then crawled on top of me. We had been sleeping together for a few months. At first, it made us both nervous, but I was totally in love, and sex was becoming more comfortable. This was one of the times it felt really, really good for me. When we were finished, I adjusted my skirt back into place, let out a contented sigh, and curled up in his arms. But I wanted to cry—I had to get up in six hours to drive to Nashville for a debate tournament.
“All I want to do is sleep in,” I murmured to Ben. “Maybe I’ll skip. I’m exhausted.”
He stroked my hair and back. “Shh,” he said, and I snuggled closer. We both knew I couldn’t skip. The college acceptance committees wouldn’t care that I was tired. All that mattered is that I had perfect grades and was perfect at all my activities. Colleges want awesome students, not failures. I could not be a failure.
Right as I started to nod off, Ben whispered, “I need to use the bathroom,” and left me curled up in front of our campfire. My eyelids felt heavy. I couldn’t keep them open.
That’s the last thing I remember.
I woke up with a pounding headache to a flashlight shining in my eyes. What time was it? Had I missed curfew? Where was Ben? He couldn’t be far. I spotted his backpack. The fire was still crackling. It must have been only a few minutes since Ben had left for the bathroom.
Two dorm mothers stood before me. They’d found the bottle of Jack, and when they searched the backpack to see if I had more liquor, they found a little weed and silver packets with rows of little white pills. Ben was nowhere to be seen.
I was groggy and didn’t have time to think, to weigh the consequences. I didn’t even have time to wonder why Ben had all those pills. I just knew that the teachers thought the backpack was mine because my sweater was in it and I was the only one there.
Dad’s modeling integrity motto flew out the window when Ben appeared in the clearing with a panicked look on his face. I gave him a subtle shake of my head, silently willing him to keep quiet. My mind raced. Ben’s on scholarship. He’ll get kicked out. My dad’s a senator. A school trustee. They’ll give me detention. Or community service.
The dorm mothers already thought the pills were mine.
I didn’t correct them.
What Won’t Dad Do for a Vote?
Where in the hell should I get coffee?
If I go to Donut Palace for a proper latte, I might run into that landscaper again.
But if I go to Foothills, which does not have proper lattes, there’s the very real possibility Ezra will be there…and the slight possibility that one of the old dudes might want to play gin rummy like that man at the nursing home.
Starbucks by the interstate it is.
By the time I drive out there, the parking lot is packed. Who knew the interstate Starbucks was so hot right now? I find a spot on the side lot and am walking up to the entrance when I do a double take. Wait. Is that Mom’s Lexus? Oh my God. If she’s been hiding a secret coffee fetish, I am going to kill her. And then force her to buy us a Keurig.
I slide inside to find Mom schmoozing with Tennessee citizens. It’s a meet and greet. Mom and Dad often ask me to go to these events whenever I’m home. It’s weird she didn’t invite me to stop by before school.
I wave at Mom. She sets down her white paper cup and rushes over to me. “Taylor, what are you doing here?”
“Getting my coffee fix.”
She purses her lips. “You know it’s not good for your skin.”
“But it’s great for my soul,” I say, feigning seriousness. “What are you drinking anyway? Black coffee with a shot of espresso, I hope.”
“It’s green tea.”
I make a face. “Green tea tastes like grass.”
“Taylor,” Mom whisper-yells. “Stop that. The camera crews will be here any minute.”
That’s when I spot Dad.
He’s staring me down from behind the counter, where he’s wearing a green apron and holding a white cup and Sharpie. Dear Lord, what won’t Dad do for a vote? If he had to, I bet he’d shovel elephant poop at the Nashville Zoo.
Dad has a tough race coming up in November and is doing everything he can to rock the vote. Hence the Starbucks excursion. Tennessee has always been super conservative, so his real competition is usually during the Republican primary in August, which he won by a landslide. But this time, the Democratic opponent—Harrison Wallace—is getting a lot of voter support. He’s young, cool, and seems very real in his TV commercials, which play over and over and over. Especially the one where he’s unloading groceries from the car like he’s a regular guy, even though he’s been a congressman for six years. He wants to move from the House to the Senate.
Dad stops playing barista and comes over to me. “What are you doing here?”