How It Ends (15 page)

I sighed, debating. “I didn't want this to become a big
thing.
”

He nodded at me to continue.

“My mom gets all worked up about my anxiety, and it makes things worse for me. She freaks out about every mood I have. Whenever I'm feeling tired or upset, she assumes I'm depressed or that I'm having an anxiety attack.”

“I do
not
always assume the worst, Jessica. You're putting words in my mouth.”

Dr. Morgan held up a hand. “Some of these concerns would be best addressed with your therapist, Dr. Richards, and I would recommend you two do some sessions around this. But let's stay focused on the issue of medication. I propose we give Jessie some freedom to manage her anxiety. That includes refraining from always checking in about it or attributing behaviors or reactions to anxiety. It also includes allowing her to have free access to her Ativan as a means of getting relief from anxiety attacks.”

My mom nodded hesitantly.

“Now, Jessie. With these freedoms comes responsibility. You'll need to monitor yourself for escalating symptoms of anxiety or depression and take the initiative to seek out help when you need it. Do you think you're mature enough to handle that responsibility?”

“Yes,” I said eagerly.

“I'm only giving you twenty pills for now, with a stern lecture. Get ready.”

I smiled at him, feeling the stirrings of excitement in my chest.

“I'm prescribing Ativan as an escape route from an anxiety attack, not as a treatment for your anxiety. Think of it like taking Tylenol to relieve back pain. The Tylenol masks the pain, but doesn't fix whatever is causing it. One of the risks of using Ativan in this way is that sometimes people come to rely on the easy fix instead of using strategies for managing anxiety. I don't want to see you fall into that trap.”

“I promise I'll only use it for emergencies.” It took everything I had not to bounce up and down in my seat.

Dr. Morgan nodded. “I also want to know that you're going to keep doing the hard work of getting control of your anxiety. That means admitting when you need help, booking appointments with me or your therapist, and challenging yourself to face your anxiety rather than avoiding situations that make you feel anxious.”

I felt a little twinge in the back of my mind. Avoidance works for me. Avoidance is my friend. “I promise,” I said, with more conviction than I felt.

“And just because your mother is going to take a step back doesn't mean she's going to stop monitoring you. She's still your mother, and it's her job to keep you safe. Mrs. Avery, if you notice her consistently avoiding social situations or exhibiting extreme symptoms of anxiety or depression, I want you to drag her back in here, even if she's kicking and screaming.”

My mother smiled for the first time. “You know I will.”

“This is an experiment in seeing how well you can manage yourself at this stage, Jessie. I want you to take it very seriously.” He handed me my prescription. “If you find that you're taking an Ativan daily or if you feel like you
need
it to face certain situations, you need to come back in so we can adjust your primary medications. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

The minute we got home, I packed the Ativan in my bag. I love the way the pills rattle together reassuringly. It's like I have a bottle of confidence stashed away. I feel like I can tackle anything.

I texted Annie straightaway:
Let's do lunch with Courtney and Larissa tomorrow. I'm ready.

Her reply was almost instantaneous.
You are THE BEST.

Yes. Yes, I am.

Jess is at her locker. Perfect.

I race up alongside her and wait for her to notice I'm different.

“Holy crap, you scared me,” she breathes, pushing her hair back from her face before resuming her struggle to free a book from the stack in her locker.

I roll up onto my toes, willing her to take a closer look.

She stumbles backwards as the book finally comes loose, then stows it in her bag. “Did you study for the science quiz?” she asks.

Seriously?

I shake my head and widen my eyes at her.

“Why are you being all weird?” she says, examining me closely.

I shrug. “I'm just . . . happy,” I tell her, wanting her to ask me why.

“Well, cut it out, it's creepy.”

I frown at her, and she laughs. “I'm just teasing,” she says lightly, handing me her science notebook. “Quiz me before class?”

This isn't how it's supposed to go. I'm supposed to saunter up to her locker, and she's supposed to take one look at me and say—

“You look different.”

I turn around to find Courtney strolling up to us.
Finally. Someone who's not completely blind to the fact that everything's changed.

“You noticed,” I gush.

Courtney looks confused. “I meant you, Jessie,” she says. “Nice jeans.”

Jess's eyes widen. “Th-thanks,” she stutters. “They're new.”

Courtney gives me a pointed look. One that says,
See, I can be nice to Jessie.

My shoulders slump. It's not that I expected my friends to be able to see that I'm not a virgin anymore, but I did expect them to notice that I'm
different.
It's like someone's flipped on a light switch inside me, scattering the darkness.

I fall into step between Courtney and Jess as they head off toward class. I'm dying to tell them, but I feel weird bringing it up. It would be one thing if they noticed and convinced me to spill, but it's completely different to bring it up out of the blue. What am I gonna say?
Hey guys, guess what! Scott and I did the nasty, and it was freakin' awesome.
A giggle escapes me as I imagine the look on Jessie's face.

“What the hell?” Courtney asks, watching me crack up over nothing. “Are you even listening to me?”

“Sorry, Court,” I say, catching sight of Scott up ahead. “I was thinking of something else.”

She follows my gaze and heaves a sigh. “You're so boring since you hooked up with him.” She taps a perfectly manicured fingernail against my forehead and says, “Lunchtime, bitch. You and me. I have stories, and I want your undivided attention.”

I'm dimly aware of her sauntering away while Jessie starts in on how rude she is, but it's all background noise, because Scott looks up and our eyes connect and it's like an electric current is running down the hallway between us.

Every little detail comes back to me in a rush, and I feel all lit up inside.

I read a gazillion things about sex before saying yes. I checked out so many novels about people losing their virginity that I was sure the librarian would phone home. I scoured the Internet . . . I even bought an issue of
CosmoGirl
that had the article “How to Know When You're Ready” advertised on the cover. So I was pretty much prepared for my first time to be disappointing. And painful. But it was neither of those things. The only ridiculous thing was that I started crying afterward because I was so overwhelmed. And then I felt like a total loser because really, who cries during sex? Not to mention that I had to spend a good half hour reassuring Scott that it was wonderful and that I had no regrets and that I didn't feel pressured. Tears after a debut performance turn out to be stressful for a guy.

Since that first time, we can't seem to stop. I'm almost embarrassed about how many times we did it this weekend. Almost. We've now had sex in Scott's basement, in my garage, in the dugout at the park, and in the men's bathroom at the library. We can't spend more than five minutes together without wanting to get naked. And I'm incapable of stopping at just kissing anymore. Once we start fooling around, it's an inevitability that we'll end up having sex. If Mrs. Hutchins ever catches us, she'll kill me.

I look at Jess and make a decision. If I don't talk about this, I'll explode.

“Can I tell you a secret?” I ask, leaning in close to her.

“You know I love secrets,” she says, nodding her head excitedly before noticing something behind me. Her eyes go wide, and I turn to see what's wrong.

Some random guy has appeared, and he's shuffling his feet, waiting to talk to us.

“Yes?” I ask impatiently, annoyed at having my big revelation interrupted.

He peers up at Jess, and she smiles awkwardly. “Hi, Jessie,” he says, fidgeting with the strap of his backpack. “I was just wondering if you had a chance to look at the comic I gave you.”

She blushes so hard she almost starts to glow. “Yeah . . . I mean, a little bit.” She looks down, and I can tell she's lying.

“Well . . .” he says softly. “What did you think?”

“It's . . . interesting—”

He nods his head slowly, as if he's trying to decode her answer. I look back and forth between them. What the hell is going on here? How have I never heard of this guy before?

“Hi,” I interrupt, holding out my hand. “My name's Annie.”

“Charlie,” he says, shaking my hand. Then he turns back to Jessie and opens his mouth to say something else, but he's interrupted by the bell.

“I have a science test,” she blurts just as he says, “Martins will lock me out if I'm late for math.” They both laugh, and I decide that I'm either in the Twilight Zone or I've been living under a rock.

“Who was
that?
” I ask as we make our way to science.

Jess shrugs and stuffs her notes into her bag. “Just some guy I know from last year.”

“You mean, just some guy who's totally in love with you.”

She looks at me like I'm nuts. “Bless you for even
thinking
a guy would be interested in me, but you're so incredibly wrong that it's not even funny.”

“Are you
blind?
He was practically falling all over you.”

Jess gets a weird look on her face and shakes her head. “I think he's just one of those guys who look like they're flirting when they're just being friendly.” She mutters something that sounds a lot like,
That's the only kind of guy I seem to meet.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing. Besides, I'm pretty sure he has a girlfriend. I've seen them eating together at lunch.” She gives her head a little shake and stops walking right outside the science room. “Didn't you have some big secret you wanted to tell me?”

“Yeah,” I say, my heart sinking as Donaldson appears in the doorway. “But it'll have to wait till later.”

Annie should've tried out for the track team,
I thought as I trailed her through the cafeteria in my new pair of high-heeled boots.

We arrived at Courtney's table, and I eased my tray down before collapsing into a chair. The boots are only one of the ways I'm off balance these days. I've officially graduated to the cool table in the cafeteria. Well, technically, Annie is the one who graduated, but Courtney has tolerated my presence for a full two weeks now. Being tolerated is a heck of a lot better than being tormented, so I'm doing my best to stay positive.

Which brings me to confession time: I've been cheating. There was no way I could've pulled off the first few days at Courtney's table without pharmaceutical support. My mother's head would explode if she knew, but I've taken an Ativan every day before lunch for the past two weeks.

I know, I know. I'm doing all that crap I'm not supposed to do. I'm letting down Dr. Morgan, I'm deceiving my mother, and blah blah blah.

But it's not like I'm planning on making a habit out of this or anything. It's been a temporary measure to get me settled in with Courtney and Larissa. I'm already starting to feel more comfortable, and that's all I needed. Starting tomorrow, I'm going back to my
No Ativan
rule and no one will be the wiser.

I still have ten pills left. That's enough for ten anxiety attacks, and there's no way I'll have ten anxiety attacks at school this year.

Plus, the way I figure it is, I can only realistically work on one major goal at a time. Dr. Morgan said I should stop avoiding situations that make me anxious, and I've made
major
progress on that goal this week.

The first day I sat at Courtney's table, I was a nervous wreck. My hands shook so hard that I spilled my Coke, and I was sweating so much that Larissa took one look at me and said, “Ew,” before turning back to Annie and ignoring me for the rest of the lunch period.

I went home in tears and decided it was too hard. There was no way I could go back to sitting with Courtney and Larissa. But I didn't give up. With the magic of Ativan, I calmed my panic enough to come back a second day, and then a third . . . and now here I am two weeks later, still braving the lion's den every single day.

“Are you high?” Courtney screeched, shocking me out of my reverie. My heart thudded, and I looked down at myself to see what my latest offense might be. Finding nothing, I peeked in her direction and found with relief that she was tearing into a freshman, and not into me.

Courtney put her fingertips to her temples as though the poor girl's presence was causing her physical pain. “Where's the rest of the decorating committee? Get them here
now.
” The terrified girl scampered off, and Courtney threw her folder full of decorating ideas down on the table in disgust. “Am I the only person with taste in this school?”

I looked away, but not before she caught sight of my horrified expression. “What?” she demanded. “You think I'm being
mean?
”

I shook my head so fast I made myself dizzy. Proximity to Courtney has not lessened the degree to which she terrifies me.

“Oh, shut up, Court. You
are
being a bitch,” Larissa said, giving me a little wink.

“I'm not
being
a bitch, I
am
a bitch. And without me, there would be no Winter Formal, so quit your complaining.” She turned and pointed a long fingernail at me. “Bitches get stuff done. Remember that. You can put that up on your little geek wall.”