Pusher

thirty.

A flash of bottle blonde hair and the steely glint of an eyebrow piercing was all I saw before Raven's shoulder clipped mine, icily brushing past me. My eyes followed her as her back disappeared into the crowded hall. Her chin remained high, hips swaying as she stalked away without any indication of having even seen me.

I shook my head and tried to shake off the icy feeling that seeped into my skin at her contact. When I turned back, Sol was staring at me with raised eyebrows. Ever since he made the mistake of telling me about Tristan Waye, he'd been hovering around me in between classes and at lunch. He even followed me to my usual table with Ellie, which turned the already shy Lexie Claridge into a stuttering mess. He was nice enough to not mention her rather obvious crush on him.

He was always friendly, a stark contrast from Maverick's brand of intimidation, but I knew his constant presence was a reminder to keep my mouth shut until Ducky and Mav could handle the situation. At this point, I just wished they'd hurry it the hell up. I'd heard enough of Solomon's quirky humor in the past few days to last me a lifetime.

Sticks tilted his chin in the direction of Raven's disappearing figure. "What was that all about?"

"Nothing." I turned back towards the hall, but I couldn't even get to the door of the stairwell before he started pestering.

"Seriously, what's her problem?"

"She's just pissed because I'm working with Maverick now. Feels betrayed or something. I don't know," I breathed. Actually, I did know. She had been up-front enough to tell me I was a "two-faced bitch" and a moron for trusting Weir. I'll spare you the details of all the expletives she used to describe Maverick, but trust me, there were a lot.

"So she's been doing that kind of thing a lot?" Solomon pressed. I cringed at his tone — the voice of someone who wanted to help — and jogged up the stairs. He took the steps two at a time and had no trouble keeping up.

"It's not a big deal. Just forget about it."

"You don't have to deal with this alone now. You've got Mav and me. Even Ducky. He just takes a while to warm up to people."

I blew out a short breath, hardly a laugh. How long exactly did it take him to warm up to people who were cousins with his boyfriend? People who were of the very few that even knew he had a boyfriend.

"There's nothing to deal with, Sol. Honestly. You're reading into this way too much."

By then we had stepped into our Current Events class and couldn't argue further without prying ears. He dropped the subject as soon as he sunk into his seat, just a desk up from mine. Maverick was already in the chair beside me, his face buried into the crook of his elbow, slouched over the top of our table.

He lifted his eyes at the sound of my chair scraping along the ground but spared me no greeting. After one look at him, I couldn't be angry about the indifference. In the simplest terms, he looked like shit.

His cheeks were sallow, skin pale — well, paler than his usual — and light bruises were rubbed right below his eyes. He looked as if he hadn't got a wink of sleep last night, and based on how his eyelids dropped closed while Mr. Montgomery passed out our final exams, I would venture to say the assumption was correct.

The test wasn't hard, just a simple essay on one of the long term events we had been following throughout the course of the semester. I chose the recent stock market crash and the recession that followed. After all, with its devastation hitting so close to home, it was all anyone in this town ever talked about.

Who was to blame? Wall Street wolves, careless investors, negligent market regulators, or sleazy CEO's?

Honestly, I didn't care much for blame or hindsight. It didn't change the fact that my mom has had to work a crappy part time job in lieu of the profession she had studied for years and years to join. It didn't change the fact that I, a fricken high schooler, had to turn to dealing drugs in order to supplement our income.