I don’t know who called the police. They showed up within minutes of the gunshots. My ears were still ringing when the swirling red lights came from three directions and surrounded my father’s Denali. They yelled for me to put my hands up, they asked if I had a weapon. After they figured out I wasn’t involved and realized I had just lost both of my parents, they left me alone. I sat in a room used to interrogate criminals for six hours waiting for Lucy. I thought about the last movie we saw, the last meal we shared. I wondered how long it had been since my mother kissed me goodnight or held my father’s hand when we walked down the street. I couldn’t even remember the last time I told them I loved them that wasn’t written in a card. The night I told Nick I loved him was the first time I uttered those words to another person since I was ten years old.

The first few weeks I pretended they were on some exotic vacation without me. It was easier to hate them than miss them. Only I could never hate them. They were the most loveable, likeable people on the planet. They were perfect, and I never lived up to their expectations. My grades, my hobbies, my hair, nothing was ever good enough. Not that they told me I was a disappointment as a daughter. I just was. I hated my mother’s charity events; they were boring and lasted forever. I usually had to dress in some dipshit-looking dress that fit too tight around the waist, especially after I attacked the snack table. Even though my father believed his clientele were good people at heart, I was still afraid when they came to his home office. I would always lock the door to the main house and hide in my room until they left. I’m not one of those people that see the good in others. My parents met at CAL and they were saints. I imagined walking onto the CAL campus and being magically transformed into a socially and environmentally conscience liberal out to save the world from injustice and the use of plastic water bottles. That was my goal. Is my goal. Only now I don’t see a future without Nick or thizz. They sort of go hand in hand. I don’t think of one without the other. How can I?

In the bottom of my memory box is a pack of my father’s favorite gum—Big Red. I pull out the gum and dump the pills I swiped from Matt into my hand. I place one in my mouth and swallow with a swig from an old water bottle next to my bed. I didn’t plan on popping alone, but Nick had to go out of town with Arnie to make a drop, and the meeting at Matt’s house was just a meeting. A very eye-opening one at that. Seeing those girls in Matt’s bed made me realize I was right all along. Matt doesn’t want me. He never did. I really thought, maybe, Matt had feelings for me. What do I know? I didn’t even notice my boyfriend and his friends were drug dealers. My perception of the world is seriously warped. I should blame thizz, but I don’t. Thizz is the only thing that makes sense to me. It puts a smile on my face. A happy thought in my head. Thizz is my best friend.

I feel the pill kicking in when my fingers start to tingle. The rush isn’t like it was a week ago. Every time is less powerful than the last. I need something to help stimulate the feelings. Music. I turn on the radio and Fergie’s “London Bridges” is on. It reminds me of Heather. I have to admit, she’s been less of a bitch since the night we thizzed. And now I know that Nick wasn’t at the beach with her, so I let myself keep an open mind to this new and improved version of Heather King. I pull a slip of paper from my desk drawer and go downstairs to use the phone in the hall. She answers on the third ring. “Hi Heather, its Dani.”

“Uh, hi.” She sounds very surprised to hear my voice.

“I was just wondering if you wanted to come over, for like, a girls’ night.” I contemplate telling her I have pills. Would that be weird?

“I can’t, I’m grounded,” Heather whispers into the phone. “My mom found my journal and flipped out.” She tells me she mentioned getting high and my heart stops. “She is threatening to send me away to some reform school our church has in Mexico.”

My heart is beating out of my chest, and not in a good way. “Does she know who you were with? What you took?”

“No, I’m not that stupid. It wasn’t like I was broadcasting it on Myspace. Don’t worry, I didn’t mention your name. I don’t think she even knows when I wrote it. I already told Arnie; he knows I would never rat him out.”

“What is up with you and Arnie?” She said Arnie wouldn’t let her take thizz, so he must care about her. They never did more than grope each other the night we took thizz, but it was more of a friendly groping.

“Our fathers grew up together, so we’ve been friends our whole lives. He’s like a big brother to me. We have this stupid pact that we’ll marry each other when we turn thirty.” She laughs, but I can tell it’s something that means a lot to her. To both of them probably.

“That’s so sweet!” I gush. Oh shit, the thizz is really kicking in.

“Yeah, he really is a nice guy, once you get to know him.”

I really hope I get to see that side of him one day.

“I’m sorry I can’t hang out. I’ll try to stop by the café this week to say hi.” I hear a knock on a door and Heather says she has to go. “Check your Myspace, it’s the only way I can communicate without my parents snooping.”

I tell her I will and we hang up. Heather really has everyone at school fooled into thinking she’s this socialite, sneaking into clubs and partying. She went out one night and her parents are ready to ship her off to Mexico. I was wrong about Heather. She’s just as fucked-up as the rest of us.

I lie across my bed and pull out a piece of my father’s favorite gum. I fold it into my mouth with a sigh. My boyfriend ditched me to meet his uncle, my best friend is having a threesome with the town sluts, and the girl that’s made my life a living hell since the day we met has turned out to be sort of nice. Can things be more fucked up?

I rummage through my desk and pull Nick’s Audiodub CD from its case. I borrowed it from him and never gave it back. My CD, along with my CD player, was never retrieved from my father’s SUV. I place the disc in my computer and crank the speakers as loud as they will go. “The Story that Never Ends” fills the room. The familiarity of the rhythm is like a hug from an old friend. Halfway through the second chorus, the phone rings. I storm down the steps to the hall and answer it.

“Dani, thank God you’re home! Can you close tonight?” Mary’s voice sounds twenty times worse on the phone. “I just got invited to a party and my parents are actually letting me go,” she squeals. “I’ll owe you, please!”

I want to say no, I want to tell her to piss off, but that isn’t what comes out. “Sure! I’ll be right there!” Empathy—a side effect of ecstasy.

The twenty minute walk takes ten minutes. I run all the way. I open the door to the café and steady myself to act normal in front of Mary. Three girls are fixing their makeup in the mirror on the wall.

Mary comes out of the storage room looking like she’s headed for a red carpet event. She throws her arms around me and I hug her back. Her gratefulness makes me happy. I feel like I’ve done something right. The praise induces another surge of serotonin.

I let her go and step back to admire her dress. “You look amazing.”

“Thanks.” She steps away, remembering who I am, who she is, and the mutual disgust we usually display for each other.

I think maybe I should insult her so she doesn’t think I’m acting weird, but I can’t think of anything clever to say. So I grab the bar rag from the counter and begin wiping things. The social aspect of thizz has me longing to join Mary and her friends in their inane conversations about hairspray and eyeliner. “Where is the party at tonight?” I ask nobody in particular.

“You wouldn’t know her,” a snotty girl answers. A few of the others sneer in my direction then turn back to the mirror with lip gloss in hand.