“Cannabis is a plant.”
“It’s against the law in this country.”
“So is taking a piss on the street,” I shot back. “Rules are stupid. What’s your point?”
“Jesus, Joey,” Podge groaned, rubbing his face with his hand. “It’s like two steps forward and ten steps back with you.”
“Bullshit. It’s prescribed by doctors for pain in half the world.”
“So is Oxycontin and the dozens of other prescription meds I’ve watched you ram down your throat since primary school. They’re prescribed for pain, too, Joe, but you know only too well what happens when they fall into the wrong hands.”
“I told you that I haven’t touched anything in weeks.”
“Except weed,” he reminded me, tone exasperated.
“Don’t act all high and mighty about it,” I shot back defensively. “Not when you’ve passed around many the spliff in your day.”
“There’s a big difference between having a smoke and hustling a bunch of na?ve rich boys out of cash.”
“Hey, don’t fucking judge me,” I warned, narrowing my eyes at him. “Two hundred quid, Podge. Two hundred. And they’re waving it around like its monopoly money. That might be pennies to guys like them, but for the likes of me, that’s serious fucking money.” I threw my hands up in frustration and spat, “You might be in the privileged position of being able to turn your nose up at it, but I sure as hell can’t afford to. Do you have any idea what that money could do for me?”
For my mother.
For my siblings.
It would mean the difference between my brothers living off cold baked beans and butter sandwiches for the next week in the freezing cold of winter until Mam or I got paid or having a hot meal in their bellies and a warm fire to heat them before bed.
There was no choice to make in this instance.
“And what about Aoife?“ he demanded, cutting me where it would have the biggest impact. Right in the heart. “How happy do you think she’ll be when she finds out—"
“Don’t bring her into it,” I warned, cutting him off. “Don’t you dare throw her in my face.” Shaking my head in warning, I held a hand up and took a step back, regretting ever confiding in him. I couldn’t trust a goddamn soul. “You know why I can’t turn this down, you fucking know, Podge, so don’t twist the knife in deeper.”
Guilt flickered in his eyes, and he shook his head. “If you need money for your family, I can—”
“I don’t want your charity,” I spat, shaking because of how horribly fucking exposed I felt. “I can handle it myself.”
He stared at me for the longest time before relenting. “Fair enough.” He threw his hands up in defeat. “I won’t say another word, only to say that I think this is a bad idea.”
“I accept that,” I replied with a stiff nod. “Now, you can either stay here on your high horse and judge me, or you can come with me to their fancy-ass party, and eat your weight in sausage rolls.” Turning around, I strode off in the direction of the lads from Tommen. “Either way, bad idea or not, I’m doing this.”
THIS IS THE CLOSEST THING TO CRAZY
AOIFE
“We’re staging an intervention,” Casey announced later that evening, throwing my bedroom door open and sauntering into my room like she was practicing for the catwalk. Dressed to the nines in a short denim mini, stilettos, and that cute white gypsy blouse I bought her for Christmas, she planted her hands on her hips and glared at me. ”That bastard dumps you on Christmas Day and you don’t call!”
“Smooth, Casey,” Katie cringed, following her into my room. “Your mother called us,” she hurried to explain, tone laced with sympathy. “She’s really worried about you, Aoif.”
“We all are.”
“Ugh.” Groaning, I rolled onto my back and star-fished the bed, knocking countless empty sweet wrappers off in the process.
“Okay, you need to turn the song off,” Casey ordered, moving for my stereo. “And climb out of your misery.”
“No, this is the best part,” I choked out, wailing along to the lyrics of Katie Melua’s The Closest Thing To Crazy. “I’m fine,” I sobbed. “Really, I am.”
“Sure you are,” Casey shot back, arching a brow. “That’s why you have chocolate smeared all over your chin.”
“I’m trying to process here,” I mumbled pathetically, around a mouthful of M&Ms. “God, is that so terrible?”
“Then process by getting mad,” she instructed, stalking over to swipe the half-eaten packet out of my hands. “Hell, get even. But don’t get fat.”
“Casey,” Katie spluttered out. “You don’t say things like that.”
“Well, sue me, because I said it,” Case shot back unapologetically. “And I’m not going to sit back and watch my best friend self-destruct because her asshole ex dumped her at Christmas. I mean Christmas?” Her tone was incredulous. “After a year together? Who the hell even does that?”
“Joey didn’t dump me,” I huffed. “We’re taking time out.”
“Decided by who?”
“Him,” I strangled out, feeling my heart splice open.
“For how long?”
As long as it takes for him to get his crap together. “I don’t know.”
“I really hate when boys pull this stunt,” she growled. “He doesn’t have the balls to knock it on the head, so he leaves the girl hanging in limbo, stringing her along for weeks until she finally comes to her senses and sees that the space that he desperately needed wasn’t really space at all, but a new girl to bury his dick inside.”
“Casey, please,” Katie snapped. “You need to tone it down.”
“You are worth ten of that dickhead,” Casey continued to grumble, as she set her duffel bag down on my bed and unzipped it. “And I plan on reminding you of it.”
I eyed the bag warily. “What are you doing?”
“The question you should be asking is what are we doing,” she replied, dragging out a mountain of clothes, makeup, CDs, and a bottle of that cheap Prosecco we both loved. “And we, my dearest, oldest, most gorgeous friend in the whole wide world, are going to a house party.”
“No, no, no.” I shook my head. “You’re going to a house party. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Yes, you are,” she chimed back, ignoring my protests. “Katie’s fella has a free house, and he’s throwing this huge party before school starts back on Monday. They’re having an actual DJ, with a mountain of free booze. It’s going to be packed to the rafters with all of his buddies from the rugby team, and you are going to come with us.”
“No,” I vehemently protested. “I am absolutely not.”
“Did you not hear me?” She gaped at me like I had lost my mind. “I said it’s going to be filled with rugby players, Aoif. Big, hot, sweaty, sexy rugby players.”
“I don’t care.”
“Best of all, it’s a Tommen party, so you don’t have to worry about bumping into anyone from BCS,” she quickly continued, ignoring my wishes entirely. “And by anyone, I mean that good for nothing asshole.“