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“Didn’t want to risk passing them.”

“How do you know they’re even going to Scott’s?” Naomi asked. “I hear sirens all the time over here.”

“Did you want to stick around and find out?” he asked.

I continued to laugh—even though I felt anything but happy. My entire body shook, sweat covered my back, and my temples were throbbing.

“Well, Drea’s amused,” Naomi said.

“I think it’s her way of dealing,” Justin said, looking over his shoulder. A police car screamed by on the main street.

“I’m sorry. I can’t stop.” The words came out in short bursts of breath. I rocked myself, focusing on long, deep breathing through my nose. Back and forth, in and out. A doctor told me to do that once.

Justin reached over and stroked my hair. “It’s okay—you’re just in shock.”

“Laughter is a lot better than tears.” Naomi poked the back of Justin’s head. “Why are you so afraid of cops?”

His jaw tensed. “Besides the potential assault charge and being in a dealer’s apartment?”

“You were defending me—I would’ve told them the truth. And Scott doesn’t usually deal out of his apartment, unless his friends want something small. So he never keeps much there. He probably just flushed anything he had left.”

“You don’t have a lot of experience with the cops, do you?” Justin squinted at her in the rearview mirror. “I could tell you were tweaking as soon as I walked in the door.” His voice sounded different to me. Rougher, angry even.

I wanted to ask them what tweaking meant exactly, but I could guess. The rabid look in Naomi’s eyes was hard to miss. I’d spent my entire life fighting to be normal. An array of medication every morning, every six hours, every evening—a prisoner of rashes, headaches, drowsiness, and other fun side effects. All so I could be who everyone else wanted me to be. Nobody ever gave me a choice. But Naomi had a choice, and she didn’t even seem to care.

“Where did you learn to throw punches like that?” Naomi asked.

Justin shrugged, but he gripped the steering wheel harder. I studied their shadowy faces. They were like two strangers to me.

Naomi glanced down at her nails. “I hope they arrest him.”

“Me too,” I said.

She looked up at me and smiled, but I sank into my seat. It wouldn’t be that easy for her this time.

Justin started the car and put a hand on his stomach, wincing. “Let’s hope for the best.”

We pulled up in front of Naomi’s house ten minutes later. Justin didn’t speak or look at us the entire way back. He’d tensed up every time headlights approached from behind.

“Home, sweet home,” Naomi said, shoving my seat forward and squeezing out. “Thanks… Justin.”

He nodded and waved, but kept his eyes forward.

I stared at his profile for a few seconds. His cheek was like marble under the dim streetlights. I swallowed, wincing at my dry throat. “You want to give me a driving lesson tomorrow?”

“I don’t think so, Drea.”

“Why n—”

“I need to go,” he said.

I waited for him to say he didn’t mean right now. Like he did when he drove me home the first time.

“Drea, please just go.” He looked at me, but I couldn’t see his expression. Shadows hovered around his eyes and mouth. “And trust your instincts next time.”

The pizza I’d eaten earlier crept up my esophagus. There was something in his words that made me think I’d never see him again.

I climbed out of the car, and he sped off after I shut the door. No second thoughts. His taillights disappeared into the early morning fog.

M onday, September 17Something has been caught in my throat all day. Heavy. Impossible to dislodge. Naomi left five messages on my cell phone yesterday. I pressed 7 as soon as I heard her voice. Delete. I don’t know what to say to her. I told her I wanted to go home, and she didn’t care. But I cared enough to stay and wait for her. So did Justin. Now he hates us both. He won’t answer his phone or return my calls. He’s not even at school today. I’ve never felt like this before. So empty.Grandma woke me up on the couch yesterday. She tried to get me to repaint the walls and even threatened to kick us out. I couldn’t take it anymore. I asked her why. Why couldn’t I have one thing that makes me feel at home? It’s just a color. But it means the world to me. So we worked out a trade. I keep my walls green, and I have to help her set up a garage sale this weekend.

“I’m sorry.” A backpack slammed onto the table. Naomi hovered above me—in the library of all places.

I flipped my journal shut. Sorry wasn’t enough.

“I’m done, Drea,” she said, yanking out a blue plastic chair and sitting down. “No more Scott. No more partying.”

She sounded like she meant it. But it would be like me saying “no more music.” It didn’t make sense.