Can Oxy be found in a pee test
How long does Oxy stay in the body
Is there a difference between male urine and female urine
* * *
—
The next morning my mother is stirring eggs in the pan and turns around as I creep softly into the kitchen. “There you are. I was wondering when you would make an appearance.”
She pushes a glass of juice toward me. I wrap my hands around it, avoiding her eyes. I know what’s coming and it’s not going to be good.
“Why don’t you tell me what happened, Emory? Why Gage Galt is now undergoing some surgery I can’t even pronounce.”
“Are you going to yell at me?” I ask.
“I can’t make any promises.”
I swallow hard and look her straight in the face. “I asked him to dance and he said no. And I was outside, on the practice field, on the bleachers, and Joey found me, and I was upset, and so Joey ran over to Gage. But he didn’t touch him, I swear. Gage slipped.”
“Was your brother high? Drunk? Answer me honestly, Emory.”
She’s giving me the Look, so I do everything in my power not to let my eyes veer from hers, to appear steady and calm, because whatever else is going to happen, her finding out Joey was high would be worse than that.
And I know I shouldn’t lie for my brother, but it was one time, and she will annihilate him even for this one time. I can help him make it back from this one time.
“No. I had my eyes on him the whole time. He was talking to Amber, his tutor, and then he ran after me when I ran outside.”
My mother drops a sugar cube in her teacup.
“And what happened with you and Gage? His mother seems to think something more was going on.”
That’s right. Liza said Gage was mumbling about me and the pool house as they took him away from the practice field. I can’t let my mother know about that, either.
I shake my head. “Nothing. A stupid crush.”
“A crush?”
“Yes. One-sided, all me. I asked him to dance. He said no. I freaked out. End of story.”
“You understand it all looks bad. The optics are bad.”
I nod.
“I know we don’t always connect,” she says. “I’m sorry for that. I never really felt like my mother and I saw eye to eye, either, and I always wanted it to be different with me and my daughters. You can tell me anything, but the one thing you can’t do is lie, especially where Joey is concerned. Do you understand? He can’t learn to take responsibility for his sobriety if we enable him.”
“I’m not lying.”
The words feel heavy and bitter in my mouth.
“All right, Emory,” she says, turning back to the eggs in the pan. “You’ve always been my good girl, so I believe you.”
The juice is harsh on my tongue and I gently, quietly, spit it back into the cup.
* * *
—
Later, Joey and I drive down Main Street on the way to his outpatient meeting, past all the cozy, rustic-looking shops: the Bean There, Done That Café, Merkel’s Fine Books, the Quiltery, where my mother likes to buy hand-stitched napkins and frothy doilies for presents for out-of-town relatives. Main Street in Mill Haven is postcard-perfect, giving everything an innocent, gleaming shimmer, so unlike how my life feels right now.
I think about all the things I want to say to Joey at this moment. How mad I am. How scared I am, for him. None of them seem right. None of them seem like they will change a thing, except make him more ashamed.
When we get to the outpatient clinic, Joey parks the car in the lot and we sit, for what seems like forever, until he finally speaks.
“They’re going to test me, I know it,” he says. “I can feel it. Oh my god.”
He’s breathing heavily. Panicking.
“I had one hundred and thirty-one days clean and I messed it up.” His face is paler than usual.
My god. He had so many days and because Lucy Kerr is grieving and I wanted a boy to dance with me, that’s gone. But a little voice in my head murmurs, Was it all me? Why didn’t Joey…
“Joey.” I keep my voice calm. I don’t want to make him ashamed. Accuse him. “Why didn’t you just find me? I was right there.”
Joey whispers, “Everything just…came down on me. I know you’re here, but I’m alone in this. No one gets that. I wish you could get that.”
We are noise for Joey, just like he said. The world is noise for Joey. A constant beating down, like rain on rooftops.
Hands shaking, I unzip my backpack.
I lied for Joey and now I’m going to cheat for Joey. Because I don’t want him to get sent away to a military school, or another rehab. Not right now.
“Mom is going to kick me out when the test turns positive. I’m so sorry, Em. I don’t know what to do.”
I pull out the baggie filled with my pee and hold it out to Joey.
“What is that?” He looks horrified.
“For your test. It’s mine. Some people were talking about it one time when we were here. Take it,” I say. “You can use it. I’m definitely not pregnant or on drugs, so you’re clear there. Some tests can tell the difference between male and female pee. Those ones are expensive, though. I don’t know what kind this place uses, but this is your only choice if you want to save yourself right now.”
There is a part of me, a really large part, that wants him to say no. That is aching for him to say no.
That wants him to say I shouldn’t have gotten high under any circumstances and I should take my chances, I messed up and now I have to deal with what that means.
But he doesn’t. Just like I didn’t make the choice to tell our parents.
We’re just two liars, sitting in a car.
He carefully takes the baggie from me and tucks it under his hoodie and shirt, in the waistband of his store-bought holey jeans.
After his outpatient, when we are in the parking lot heading to the car, he says, “They didn’t test me. I dumped it down the sink.”
He looks relieved, but I’m not. Maybe part of me hoped he would get tested, and the test would somehow pick it up, or see that it was female urine, and then everything that probably should happen would happen, but without me betraying Joey to his face.
In the car, I tell him to drive me to the hospital so I can see Gage. I just want to see him. And I want him to tell everyone that he just slipped, that Joey didn’t attack him. I want to chip away at all the bad things being hurled at Joey right now, so it can be a manageable mess instead of a hurricane.
“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” Joey says slowly.
“Then stay in the car,” I tell him.
* * *
—
When I walk in, Ryleigh is sitting next to Gage’s bed, holding his hand. His other arm is suspended in the air, in a heavy brace that’s wrapped all the way around his shoulder. His eyes are closed.
I wonder if he’s feeling the same ocean I felt when I was in the hospital. The endless waves of morphine ocean.
Looking at him makes me feel weak, too. His perfect mouth, his soft skin. Everything I wanted so much, and I feel guilty and queasy for thinking that, while he’s here in this bed, hurt. Just like I was in the summer.
Here I am, visiting him, but he never came to see me.