"Why the fuck are you with that scum?" I asked, disgusted just thinking about the Son of a Bitch. "He's a complete asshole."

"I don't know. There's something about him. Why do you keep pushing me about him? You know you can't change how I feel so why do you try?" Danielle scowled.

"Mario Epson. Jesus, his name makes me cringe. I'm just going to stop talking. You know why I hate him but we won't get into that."

"Good because he's coming to the car now," she replied.

"Hey baby," Mario greeted her smiling.

He hopped into the backseat, slid his head next to Danielle's and planted a wet kiss on her lips.

I scowled.

He planned it all. He knew what was going to happen and he didn't care. I knew the hatred he felt for him but I didn't know it went that far. The guilt I felt from that night was absolutely too awful for words. I bet Mario felt nothing but triumph that night. He had succeeded and no one suspected him but me. Of course all of my friends told me I was being paranoid and my mind was blaming him because of how much I had all ready loathed him. I wanted to forget about that dreadful night.

"Does Mike Shedmond still do powder?" I asked.

"Yeah," Mario answered. "He quit about a month and a half ago and started crankin' it. How he did it is beyond me. Anyways, he was doin' good. I got shit from him a few times. It was pretty good but expensive. You know me. I'd rather pay less to—"

"Get to the point," I interrupted.

"Get the average shit." He looked at me. "Fuck you."

"Anyways, well about a week ago him and his girl, Amanda Lission A.K.A Susie Skankalot got into it. He caught her going down on her ex in her bedroom. It wasn't too big of a surprise. Well, he hit her and somehow he relapsed and now he's doing more white than ever."

Danielle smiled, "Well, that explains her black eye. The bitch told me she got hit with a softball when she was helping her little sister practice."

"She doesn't even have a sister!" I laughed.

"Are you serious?" Danielle asked.


The mention of cocaine made my mind race. I hated that word. I sounded so terrible, so dire. Cocaine appalls citizens of suburbia it's something shunned. But then again, so are all drugs.

I remembered the first time I ever tried powder. When I was sixteen I had a group of friends that were very into it. I had told myself that I would never try coke but after being around it so much I eventually did.

It was my first love. The emotions I felt for the drug were more than anything I had ever longed for. I felt great. I was so content, full of energy and nice to the people I disliked most. I felt so right. I felt like I was in paradise. I felt normal and I think that that's what I liked the most. The comedown was dreadful. It was like coming home from a vacation you loved. It was like losing the thing you care for most. The comedown was the reason I bought half of a gram the next day.

When my habit became too expensive and it did shortly after I started because of how it expensive it was, I introduced my friends to the powerful drug. They enjoyed it as much as I did. It became an obsession for me and I'm sure it was the same for them.

I sat and watched as my friends slowly started to develop a drug addiction. I knew I became addicted through the process also but I felt as if I could quit at any time. I felt like I snorted coke when I wanted, not when I needed to.

But after almost two years of on and off using, I ended up doing it because I needed too because without cocaine I wasn't normal. But still, I continue to do it. I still love snorting line after line. I'll quit when I hate it.

I'll quit when I get disgusted from the feeling it gives me. I'll quit when I overdose.

I never knew how powerful the drug was. When it's gone you feel as if you're slowly and painfully going insane. You're angry, full of sorrow and hateful. You would do anything to get more: steal, rob, manipulate.

It's more precious than gold and more expensive than diamonds…

I put on my left turn signal and turned on to Newman Avenue. I pulled to a stop and turned my Sedan off three houses down from Mike's. I turned around and looked Danielle in the eyes.

"Do either of you have any weed?" I asked.

Danielle smiled, "Well, it just so happens that I do."

I knew she would.

"How much?"

"Like a blunt," She answered.

"Well, let's smoke before we go in there. It'll mellow us out and the drama won't bother us."

"What drama?" Danielle asked, cocking her head.

"This is a high school party. There's bound to be drama. Someone's going to cheat or there'll be a fight or the cops will be called."

"The cops will not get called. We're white people in a rich, comfortable neighborhood. The cops are worried about niggas in the ghetto." Mario said, shaking his head and smiling.

"What if they're black cops?" Danielle asked.

"Shut up and roll." I said, handing her the cigarillo I pulled out of my glove compartment.

Headlights beamed through me back windshield. I watched as Dan and Shay pulled up behind my car.

"Looks like two more heads," Mario said, sighing.

I opened my eyes and sat up. It was 2:03 PM and I scanned my mind for what happened the night before. I remembered getting high in the car, going inside, lots of powder, lots of alcohol and that was it. I had no idea how I got home and where my friends were.

I got out of my bed and walked over to my window. My car was in the driveway. That made me feel a little bit better, even though it was parked crooked. I picked up a rubber band and pulled my hair back into a ponytail as I walked down stairs to the kitchen. My parents were sitting across from each other at the kitchen table.

"Hi," I said in a gruff voice.

"Good morning, Sunshine," My dad said smiling. "How was your night?"

"Great," I answered.

I poured myself a glass of orange juice and sat down on the counter. My dad's brownish-gray hair was combed straight down and his eyes matched the dark brown in his hair. He looked a tad overweight but it was just his beer belly. The jeans and Metalica t-shirt he was dressed in was a change from his usual business suit.

My mother still had her silk, lavender pajamas on. I could tell she had the hangover from hell but she still looked good. She was very pretty. Her straight blonde hair and piercing blue eyes made her look like an Arian woman. Her form was slender and she was up to date with the current fashions.

I frowned thinking of what she and I used to have. My mom had always been the "cool" mom and we got along great. I hadn't considered her my best friend or anything but I enjoyed being around her. I missed going shopping and seeing movies with her. At least once a week we went out and spent more money that we were supposed to. She had always made me laugh.

When I started smoking pot, drinking and experimenting more everything changed. I was irritable and rude. My mom tried to talk to me but I refused. In fact, I started a big argument with her about it. I knew she just wanted to fix me. She wanted me to be happy and she could tell I wasn't. She wanted the old, blissful, loving me back.

My mom didn't understand that she wasn't ready to come back just yet.

"Well, I'm going to Danielle's house for a dinner party with her family. I'm gonna get ready then head to Danielle's to help set up. Is that all right?" I asked, finishing off my orange juice and setting it into the sink.

"Yeah," My mother answered looking into my hazel eyes.

I walked out of the kitchen and up to my room. I jumped onto my bed and picked my purse up from the floor. I unzipped it and searched for my cell phone. It wasn't in there. I unbuttoned the compartments on the outside and it wasn't in there.


I got up from my bed and walked to where my TV was. I picked up the charger. The phone wasn't connected to it. I went back to my bed and picked up the house phone. I listened to the beeps as I hit each number to my cell phone.

"Hey, it's Alexa!"

I hung up the phone. My phone was dead.

I exited my room and ran down the steps, feeling the marble floor infect my bare feet with its harsh coldness. I went back into the kitchen. My parents hadn't seen my phone.

I went into the next room over, the dining room. My phone wasn't in there. Then, into the hallway, then in the bathroom. My phone wasn't there. The living room, the office. My phone wasn't there. I ran down the stairs to the family room. I searched it. Then, I went into the laundry room, the movie room, and the bathroom. It wasn't there.

I started to feel anxious. It has to be here. I'm not dumb enough to get that stolen. I ran my fingers through my hair and leaned my forehead against the wall of the living room. I have to find that phone.

"I'm so fucked," I whispered.

I went upstairs to my room and lied down in my bed. I began to sweat. I couldn't deal with the stress and paranoia that was going to flood into my life over the next few days. I picked my house phone up from its cradle and dialed a number I would never forget as fast as I could.

"Hello?" A deep voice said.

I smiled, "Hello."

"What's goin' on?"

I frowned, "We have a problem. A huge problem."

"What?!" He exclaimed.

He knew how risky things were. He knew how much power I had over his life. But he also trusted me to keep it to myself and not give it to anyone else. The problem is that I did.

I let out a loud breath, "Meet me at SuperMart. The usual spot. Then, we'll go to your house and I'll explain everything to you."

"You fucked me, didn't you?" He sighed, "When?"

"Forty-five minutes."

"Jesus, are you trying to kill me with suspense?"

"Bye, Babe. I'll see you soon." I said and put the phone back on its cradle.

I pushed my foot onto the gas pedal and watched the needle of my speedometer go from forty miles per hour to fifty-five miles per hour as I past a sign reading Dukasis Heights, a poor, ghetto just on the border of East Village.

I turned onto Millan Street. Then, I turned left into a narrow, gravel alley and stopped behind the old, greasy gas station called SuperMart. I rolled my car windows up and turned my car off. I lit a cigarette as I waited and puffed on it in the silence.

Even though it was spring, there were no leaves on the many trees surrounding the alley. The same grass was dead and the same cement was cracked. The house behind the alley was dilapidated and I could tell it hadn't been lived in for quite some time. It was the same gray, three-story house. Someone had attempted to board up the windows but they weren't completely covered. SuperMart's back wall was painted black with the same gang graffiti on it and the same dumpster was overflowing and garbage had been laid around it.

The place carried a sad aura. It looked dingy, unsanitary.

I had called Danielle, Mario and Shay and Dan and neither of them had seen my phone since last night. They remembered a lot more about last night than I did, probably because I was the lightweight of the group. Danielle and Shay told me I was completed wasted. I threw up because I was so drunk and I usually never threw up. They also said I was gone most of the early morning hours with some guy I had met. I didn't remember meeting any guy. And I rarely hooked up at parties. Besides, I was involved with someone.

"Tequila makes the clothes come off," I sang.

A black Civic with very tinted windows pulled up beside my car. I opened my door as the driver opened his passenger door and I slid inside. I looked into his mahogany brown eyes and he grinned.

"Gimme a kiss," Sam Eamon said.

I drew my lips up to his and kissed him.

"Now, what the fuck happened?" He asked, not angrily but out of curiosity.

"I lost my cell phone at a party last night."

"And?" He asked, dropping his head.

"Um…emails, text messages, recent calls and other things."

His usual narrow eyes went wide. "Shit, Alexa. Why did you keep that shit in your phone? Why didn't you delete them? You know what this could do to my career?"

"I'm eighteen. Doesn't that change everything?" I asked, trying to be optimistic about it.

He shook his head, "Does it say my last name?"

"No," I replied.

"Is it obvious that it's me?" He asked, hopeful.

Yeah, I thought, "No." I said.

My science teacher smiled and parted his thin lips. I smiled back at him. He was dressed in a pair of faded jeans and a baby blue t-shirt that had Ralph Lauren printed on it. His dishwater blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail. It wasn't long. It was sexy. His blonde facial hair was pathetic but I still loved it.

Sam Eamon was twenty-two years old, fresh out of college and new to East Village Prep this year. He was vice president of the Science department and every one of his female students had a crush on him. On the first day of school, when I walked into his classroom I felt the attraction between us. For a month or two our relationship was based on locking eyes during lectures, staying after class for "problems" I was having with the material and getting an "A" or "B" on every assignment. Then, at an "after school meeting", we had our first kiss. Ever since then, we had been sneaking around trying to see each other as much as possible.

I didn't know what to call what we had with each other. It definitely wasn't love. Well, at least not for me. Maybe it was the fact that being with him dangerous. It was something I wasn't supposed to do. It was shunned in Suburbia. But then again, so was sex with teens period. Or it might have been because every girl wanted him and he was mine. Maybe being with him made me feel powerful and that was what I wanted. I was happy when I was with him and we did desire each other. I didn't care what it was we had. I had fun with him. I was me when I was with him. That was all that mattered.

"What have you been up to?" I asked him.

"Hookin' up with every hot chick I see, the usual. You?" He grinned and gave me a light kiss.

"Just tryin' to find some muscular stud to satisfy me and provide me with as much pleasure as possible."

"Still interviewing? I'd like to audition. I think I can play the part." He whispered as he looked up from kissing me on my neck.

"Maybe." I answered. "The faster we get to your house the faster you'll know if you got the part."

He put the car into drive and slowly drove down the alley. I knew the short drive to his house by heart. He had driven me there too many times to count. He always drove so safe. I had asked him why and he told me he didn't want to get pulled over with me in the car since I was his student.

He was very paranoid about somebody finding out about us. He loved teaching. I guess that was why he did it. I kept his promise of secrecy because of how much he enforced it. I could tell it would crush him if the police were informed about him and a student being involved. I did everything he asked because I knew it made him happy. It gave him a little more assurance that we were going to be safe.

He turned onto his pleasant dead end street full of ranches, went into his blacktop driveway, opened his garage and parked inside of it. We both got out of the car and walked up to the side door. He unlocked it and locked it after we were inside.

"Lexi?" Sam asked.

"Yes, Sam?" I replied.

"Do you want to talk then have sex or have sex then talk?"

I laughed, "Have sex then talk."

He grinned and led me into his bedroom.

A/N: I'm not very happy with this chapter. I feel as if it isn't as good as the others. Not written as well and not as interesting. Do you agree?