Pusher

two.

"What is your cousin smoking these days? Because it has to be stronger than just weed," Ellie said, her words wheezing out of her in bursts of laughter. She curled up on the chair, bringing her hands together in a weak clap. The edges of her brown eyes crinkled as she scrunched up her face in amusement.

I couldn't help it, my cheeks reddened. Sure, I thought it was unbelievable that Miles thought I would deal drugs too, but was it really that funny?

I had known Ellie since the day she ran away from Sally Smiles Summer Camp for young Catholic girls. In the midst of the July heat, a few short months before we entered the sixth grade together, she camped out in the middle of Lincoln Park. It was only a few blocks from my house, so I brought her PB&J sandwiches and sunflower seeds for a day and a half until the police came and took her back to her furious, bug-eyed mother.

We've been best friends ever since.

I should have been used to her over-reactions and incredible amusement in making fun of the various facets of my life, but I certainly wasn't anticipating for her to start hyperventilating with spasming laughter right in the middle of our fourth period. It was loud enough for the boys sitting a table up from us to glance back with raised eyebrows, Solomon slowing his drumsticks as he tapped out a beat on the desk.

"Come on," I said weakly, careful to keep my voice low, "I wouldn't be that bad."

She shot me a distinct look. "No offense, Ang, but you're the definition of a goody-two-shoes. Maybe in theory you'd be good, but you don't have the guts to break the law. You're painfully predictable. You don't even speed. Like, ever."

She was already laughing again and I was about to argue back, but a sharp voice cut me off before I could even begin.

"Can the dying walrus get out of my chair?"

Ellie's laughter dropped like dead weight. She huffed out a breath, blowing away a strand of scarlet hair that had fallen in front of her face. Her eyes were trained just behind me, over my head.

She feigned an overly sweet smile with a matching tone, "Maverick, always such a pleasure."

He fell into his seat after she had sashayed off, a pile of long limbs sending the chair back an inch or so with his weight. He squinted away from the lights and tugged the brim of his baseball hat further over his eyes. It was faded and grey, the fabric fraying around edges. It was the only thing he wore that wasn't black.

I looked away before he could see that I was staring and my fingers toyed at the hem of my skirt. Any sort of witty remark I could have shot at him died on my tongue. Ellie was already gone, Maverick was and would always be a jerk, and I was hopelessly pathetic in the art of come-backs. Not to mention, sticking up for people, including myself, wasn't exactly my strong suit.

Solomon had begun beating a new rhythm by the time the tardy bell rang. His spindly frame bobbed as the drumsticks tapped intricate patterns into the table. He was slumped in his chair, one boot kicked up next to his books.

Mr. Montgomery ambled in, shutting the door behind him. Without pausing his stride he passed down the rows and tore off Solomon's black beanie, revealing a tuff of messy dirty blonde hair. He reached for Maverick's cap next and tossed it on the desk.

"Good morning, Mr. Hale," our teacher began, "Perhaps you would like to join us in a state of consciousness."

The head of messy curls seated a chair in front of me lifted from the table. He released something resembling a grunt and propped his chin up on his hand. This seemed to satisfy Mr. Montgomery enough for him to move on to harassing other sleep-dazed students. After a moment the boy let his head drop back onto the desk.