Call Me Twice

Chapter 2: Pine Hollow High

Harper

"Jesus, Harper, what is wrong with you?" Lia asks, dragging me out of the street narrowly before the the car whips past, honking.
"D'you want to go walk on train tracks later? Be aware, I'm going to do it with or without you?" I giggle, lying on the cement. I'm in just, so much pain from last night my throat is just raw from the stomach pumping but sweet Jesus I'm something close to feeling great.
"No. I should not have to say this to my sixteen year old boyfriend. Stop walking in front of cars," Lia rolls her eyes, tugging her bright yellow coat tighter around herself.
"Only a bit of fun," I say, climbing to my feet. My jeans are slightly more torn than they were after that last adventure. Doesn't matter. I pick up my backpack.
"I called you back at two am, you didn't answer."
"Huh, I think I was asleep," I say, lightly.
"At home or in the hospital?" She asks, folding her arms, as we approach Pine Hollow high's main entrance. Other students flock in, having I guess not similar conversations, but similarly enthralled with one another, pushing shoving and laughing. Except for the select group of students with a math test this morning they're panicking and in one moron's case walking in front of cars.
"At home or in the hospital, Harper?" She asks, cocking her head.
"Wow, news travels fast in this town," I laugh, rubbing my head, "You can't question me. I've got a headache."
"Did you get high?"
"Yeah, according to the stomach pump it was Fentanyl and E," I say, "10/10 Terrible trip, so disgusting and painful. Do not recommend. Five stars."
"Where'd you even get it?" She asks.
"Stole it. Didn't know that was what it was," I shrug, getting my snacks out of my backpack, "Gummy worm?"
"So, what you just found a bunch of unidentifiable pills in someone's—bag? And figured you'd take them all at once and see what happened?"
"Yeah. Got to be better than living. Gummy worm? I'm going to eat all of them if you don't want it, I'm starving they took everything out of my stomach should sue the hospital honestly I had an eight dollar shake last night," I say, my mouthful.
She takes the gummy worm, glaring at me, "Tell me honestly. Would you be dating me if my father weren't one of the richest men in town and likely to shoot whoever he finds out has deflowered me?"
"No, don't be ridiculous. That's only like, 20% of the appeal, 70% is the way your eyes do just that, when you're cross with me, and the other 10% is the way you walk in a room," I say, touching the corners of her eyes, "See? Lots of reasons."
"How long do you honestly expect to live?" She asks.
"I mean, a pretty long time given my best attempts I'm still here, like, apparently it's going okay, d'you want to go stand on the train tracks or not? I'm not taking Josie; he copies me."
"No, my dad might leave early, we can go swimming," she says, tugging my stained Grateful Dead sweatshirt. "Jumping in freezing cold water enough of a thrill for you?"
"Just about," I say, kissing her cheek quickly, as we walk in the main doors of the school.
"What happened to this?" She asks, still tugging on my sweatshirt.
"Oh. I got high on Fentanyl and E, probably threw up a couple of times, tripped out, and then got my stomach pumped in it, then it lay on the floor of a hospital room till my mother picked it up, like lately that's what happened prior to that I don't know like a lot—it's been a lot—,"
"Stand still," she tugs it off, and sorts in her locker, pulling out a grey crew neck, "There, put that on. All right?"
"Do I get my Grateful Dead back?" I cock my head.
"Live to tonight and swimming and find out," she says, flatly, putting it in her locker, "Now get to class, you have PE, bye."
"Love you," I say, tugging on the front of her sweater. She kisses my lips quickly.
"Love you, now go. See if you can attend all your classes in order that should be thrilling for you you've never done it before."
"Seriously shut up. Also I love you, will you marry me?"
"No!" She laughs, over her shoulder, long straight black hair flicking over her shoulder as she turns and walks away from me. I grin. It's going to be a good day.
I put in my headphones. Got PE then math class. I can listen to—what, 'White Wedding' ? Is that what I had in? Then why was it playing on the radio last night? Oh, probably because you were high, jackass.
A foot hooks mine and I feel myself fall, painfully. My Walkman cracks and the tape flies out. A foot crunches down on it.
"Well, well, well. If it isn't the local junkie."
"Fuck you seven ways to hell Rick Herschel," I say, not rising. My head is spinning and I ache in new ways after that fall. Also I fully except this.
"I don't think they should let junkies come to school, do you boys?" Herschel laughs, kicking me in the ribs. I wince.
"Four fuckwads are here so seems they'll let anyone in," I say, wincing in anticipation of the kick from one of his three friends. Of course it comes.
"Watch your mouth, junkie."
"I like being a junkie that's a true thing. I think you need to go back through your AmericanBully's Insult Guide do they not give you copies anymore at Asshole Class?" I ask, sitting up. Yes I get punched in the face.
"Hey—break it up!" Principal Long walks up, stiff suit that needed to be dry cleaned three weeks ago. Needs a formal education on what Head and Shoulders is. But otherwise not a bad guy. "Miller, get to class. Now. I catch you in the hall one more I will call your mother at work."
"Sir," it was clear I was getting beaten up but Principal Long knows me and my smart mouth. I might not have started it this time but that's immaterial.
I limp towards PE, fiddling with my broken Walkman. It seems okay the cover is just cracked. Nothing a little duct tape won't fix. But the tape is ruined so looks like I can't drown out math class. I'm going to fail this test.
PE is in the gym. Only the unathletic, pathetic, junkie types take PE instead of an actual sport. So me. Herschel and his bully crew are all in football (shocking) so they can hug other men and scream and I don't know I don't understand football.
But I do this, and it's not bad half the time we just stretch then run around a little and try to wake up and be less hung over than we previously were.
They gym is old, probably has black mold based off the amount of patchy black substance on the white ceiling. Bright fluorescent lights. Hardwood floor scuffed by hundreds of feet. Ghosts of past students probably many long since dead. Not a lot of good comes out of Pine Hollow. Those lucky enough to leave don't look back and they certainly don't donate to better their old torture chamber. I mean high school.
I sit down in a corner suitably far from everyone else, putting my Walkman in my pocket. Not going to get it working. At least my girlfriend gave me a sweatshirt. I smell it. Smells like laundry detergent, and possibly jolly ranchers. I sigh, looking down at my crossed legs. I feel so sick right now. Almost sick enough to ignore that that's my fault. In my condemnation I should have known that I was mixing uppers and downers. In my defense I super didn't care.
"Do you mind if I sit here?"
I look up at the speaker. Dressed completely in black. My age or a little younger with dark bangs nearly in his eyes. Black cargos a black t-shirt for no apparent reason two black sweatshirts, and black combat boots. Link Brenner, probably the only person at Pine Hollow High who is a bigger social pariah than I am.
"No offense Homeschool, but I'm trying not to be murdered before World Hist today," I say, shrugging a little, "I'm not saying I have street cred I'm saying I like to pretend I do."
"Um—yeah, I get it," he says, stuffing his hands in his pockets, tipping his head away a little. Brenner was homeschooled, up till this year. His father is in prison for tax evasion or something, nobody wanted him (not surprising), and he's apparently lived in Pine Hollow or outside of it all his life but he's been home schooled. He's staying with the Pastor and his wife while his father's in federal prison. Anyway, we call him Homeschool as a rule and he doesn't talk to anyone, as a rule.
"Like I said, no offense, but," I gesture for him to find somewhere else to sit.
"Um—here," he withdraws a tape from his pocket, "I saw what they did—and, I know you always listen during math class. And we have a test."
"How do you know I always listen during math?" I ask.
"I sit behind you. Here, it's not White Wedding but it is Billy Idol," he says, still holding it out.
"How do you know I listen to White Wedding?" I ask.
"I sit behind you. It's not—quiet," he shrugs a little, "Just take it."
"Who's Billy Idol?" I ask, taking it slowly.
"The same person who sings White Wedding," he says, twitching his cheek a bit.
"Thanks Homeschool," I say, taking it.
He nods and moves on, head hung low. I shrug. That was weird is the little homeschooler trying to make friends? More likely trying to score drugs. They all call me junkie it's likely he thought he could get his introverted ass high for the first time. Well too bad. I don't share.