The door whines as it opens, squeals as it shuts. She makes her way deeper inside, her ankle boots squeaking with every step. The white tiles are cracked in some places, completely missing in others. Graffiti covers the faded pink walls and seaweed-green stalls—messages ranging from someone-hearting-someone to slurs about students from back in the day.
Labored breathing catches her attention, coming from inside one of the stalls. It’s either panicked panting or heavy petting. Rachel isn’t completely sure which scenario she prefers to have walked in on.
“Hello?” she calls. Rachel cautiously steps toward to the occupied stall. “Are you okay in there?”
A few tiny white pills scatter every which way, and roll to a stop one after the other. Rachel bends down and picks up the nearest pill, upon which twin deer on their hind legs are engraved on either side. She has seen the insignia in Orion’s greenhouse. Rachel frowns, returning her attention to the stall.
The breathing grows more desperate. A loud slap against the metallic wall echoes against the tile. A body slides down and a pale hand sticks out through the opening between the floor and door.
Rachel drops her bag and grabs the hand, pulling as hard as she can until the girl is closer to the gap. When her other hand comes into view, a medical ID bracelet hangs around the girl’s wrist. She grapples for the girl’s wrist, turns the bracelet around and sees the word ‘EPILEPSY’ engraved into the sterling silver plate. Rachel cusses under her breath. She can’t open the locked stall door in time to help. There’s also no way anyone will be able to hear her cries for help.
Rachel crawls around to the empty stall beside the occupied one.
Mercia Holstein, the quiet girl who’d suddenly turned ‘grade-A hot’ overnight a couple of years back, lies on the cracked and discolored tiles, her body still. With her eyes shut, her lips partially open, she stiffens as the spasms set in. Rachel pushes the pill into Mercia’s mouth and hopes for the best.
Rachel leans her forehead against the cold stall wall. “Please don’t die,” she whispers. She presses her fingertips against Mercia’s neck to keep track of her pulse.
“I won’t die.” Mercia slurs her words, eyes flickering open.
Rachel releases a breath. When they were kids, Mercia’s seizures had been traumatizing to witness. As they got older, and kids got meaner, the bullies began using Mercia’s fits as social media fodder. Rachel can’t recall the last time Mercia had an epileptic episode, though.
Mercia turns around and props herself onto her elbows. “Can you help me find the rest of my pills? There should be three left.”
Rachel gets to her feet. “Yeah.”
Mercia groans as she pushes herself up on the other side of the partition.
“Are you okay now?” Rachel searches the floor and picks up the first of her spilled medication. No way in hell is this medication FDA approved. Even Orion, with all his charms and magic, couldn’t pull that feat off. “Are these—?”
“Goldmint.”
“Relaxants, yeah, I know.” Rachel bends over to pick up a second pill. The first, and only time she’d ingested goldmint—thanks to Orion’s nasty little trick—she hadn’t relaxed whatsoever. If anything, Rachel had become Ritalin-focused, which isn’t a typical side-effect according to the manufacturer of this otherworldly drug.
The stall door opens and Mercia stumbles out into the open. “They work. They alleviate almost all of my symptoms immediately.” She makes her way over to the washbasin. “Don’t judge me.”
“I’m not judging you.” Rachel picks up the last of the pills and walks back to where Mercia leans against the washbasin. Blonde curls frame her face, barely a hair out of place, but they seem lackluster against her abnormally pale skin. “Where’d you get them?”
“There’s a dealer on campus, but I’d rather not name any names. The goldmint supply is dwindling and I need it more than most.” Mercia’s deadpan tone is accompanied by a sigh. She holds out her hand for the pills and Rachel drops them into her open palm. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” Rachel picks up her discarded sling bag.
“You won’t tell anyone, right?”
“It’s none of my business what you do. I just came in here to fix myself up.”
“I mean about the almost-seizure.” Mercia’s brows pinch together. Her popularity would definitely take a nosedive if this became public knowledge. The cruel jokes would begin anew and then it’s bye-bye social life, adios Holland and Ashley, au revoir the perks of being one of Ridge Crest High’s elite.
“Like I said, it’s none of my business.” Rachel makes her way to the farthest empty stall, hoping it will be enough of a hint for Mercia to leave her alone. As she reaches her destination, something on the floor catches her eye. A four inch figurine, bone white and expertly crafted, positioned in front of the faded porcelain toilet. “Odd.”
“You know Greg’s paying us to act all gooey and doe-eyed with him to get on your nerves, right?” Mercia says.
Two weeks ago, Mercia had been Greg’s pick-o’-the-week and it’d been a stellar performance from both parties. Since summer ended, Greg’s gone above and beyond to flaunt his romantic attachments by sucking face with a new girl every week or so.
Not that Rachel really cares what Greg does or doesn’t do in his spare time anymore—she just never figured him to be Mercia’s type.
“It’s not, like, serious or anything. It’s a bit creepy if you ask me, especially since he’s still obsessed with you. I mean, I’d be careful if I were you, but if you’re into that type of thing, so be it.”
“I honestly don’t care what Greg’s up to. It was a mutual break-up.” Rachel picks up the weird totem, which resembles Mercia when she’s having a seizure a tad too much. “Hey, Mercia, did you drop this?” Rachel asks, exiting the stall.
Mercia takes the figurine and blanches as she inspects the
