How to Win at High School (22 page)

(Dress. Makeup. Heels.)

(A goddess.)

“Screw this,” Janie says. “Keep the room if you want. I'm outta here.”

And she's gone.

(Like I said, Janie's not dumb.)

Adam keeps the hotel room. Adam finishes Sara Bryant's geography paper. Adam wonders if letting Janie walk out was a tactical error. If it'll have a harmful effect on his reputation.

Then Adam thinks,
Who cares?

He thinks,
I'll fix this, somehow.

He thinks,
Finally, I can sleep.

Adam sleeps.

“So what's the deal?” Brian says. “You get with those two hotties, or what?”

They're driving out to meet Bondy for the weekly ID pickup. It's a slow week, only three orders. It's been a slow month.

(Apparently everyone at Nixon has a fake ID by this point. Business is trending down. The market, she is saturated.)

Adam looks out the window at the factories and train yards alongside the expressway. “Yeah,” he says. “I guess I did.”

Brian laughs. “You're such a pimp. How was it?”

Adam shrugs. “It was good.”

Brian glances across the car at Adam. “Just good?” he says, grinning. “Bullshit. I bet it was pornographic.”

Adam just smiles. Doesn't say anything. Since Janie walked out, he's been kinda meh. The Janie stuff, it's had a definite effect on his standing at Nixon.

(I mean, he's still popular. People still notice when he walks down the hall. But the threesome stuff is old news at this point. And Janie Ng
dumped
him.

This morning, Paul Nolan made a comment about Adam's watch, some throwaway joke. All in fun, obviously—

(it's some shitty Timex)

—but the message is clear.

Adam's stock is declining, just a little.)

(And Rob Thigpen's still riding high.)

“We need a new income stream,” Adam tells Brian. “Something to keep us on top of the game.”

Brian frowns. “Homework and two hot chicks on your jock isn't enough?”

“Tony Montana didn't stop,” Adam says. “This ID thing's nearly played out. You want to go back to running pizzas?”

Brian shakes his head. “Hell no.”

“Good,” Adam says. “Because I have our next big idea.”

Pills, Adam's thinking.

Yeah. Real
Scarface
shit.

Brian isn't feeling it at first.

“It makes perfect sense,” Adam tells him. “All the popular kids are into the stuff. They have to get it from somewhere.”

“Shit,” Brian says. “I dunno. That's some heavy-duty territory you're talking about moving into right there.”

Maybe,
Adam thinks. But maybe it's the logical progression. Homework. Booze. IDs. The only other things Nixon kids need are drugs and sex—

(and pimpin' ain't easy)

(pills, on the other hand? Super easy. Every popular kid in the school pops a pill Friday night. Adam's seen it. But they have to get their pills from somewhere.

Why not from Adam Higgs?)

“Because it's fucking illegal, is why,” Brian says. “Like, hard core, break the law, they'll throw us in jail if they catch us.”

“So we won't get caught,” Adam tells him. “We'll keep our mouths shut. You ever watch movies? Ever watch
Scarface
? It's when you get stupid that you get caught. We just won't get stupid.”

Brian shakes his head. “I don't know, man,” he says. “Easier said than done.”

“Look,” Adam says. “When I first started at Nixon, you told me I had to get ballsy to succeed. Summer's coming. You
want to drive pizzas around while everyone else is getting fucked up at parties?”

Brian stares out the window. “Shit,” he says.

“Just work with me,” Adam tells him. “Your cousin offered to hook me up, back in the day. We talk to him, feel him out. It's just talk.

“Come on,” Adam says. “When have I let you down before?”

Adam and Brian meet up with Tommy a few days later.

Tommy lives in an apartment on the west side of town, in the ghetto underneath the bridge to Detroit. Brian looks back twice at his shitty Sunfire as he and Adam walk up to the building.

Adam gives him a look. Brian shrugs. “In this neighborhood?” he says. “That thing's as good as a Bentley.”

Tommy's apartment is on the eighth floor. It's a long-ass ride in a smelly, graffiti-stained elevator. The lights flicker. The elevator shudders.

It ain't confidence-inspiring.

Tommy's waiting for them at the door. He's scrawnier than Adam remembers. Pale, with a patchy goatee and a stained wifebeater. He grins at Adam and Brian, kind of unfocused.

(
High.
)

“You guys,” he says. “How's it going?”

Tommy's living room has a big flat-screen TV on the wall and a nice leather sofa. The window looks out over the river. Adam looks around, feels a little more confident in Tommy's ability to provide.

“You were going to hook me up with some hot high school honeys,” Tommy says. “You never called me back, though.”

Adam shrugs. “They're overrated.”

Tommy looks at him. “Yeah,” he says. “I guess they are.
So what's up? You guys looking for more booze, or what?”

Adam sits. The sofa is nice. Butter-soft. “We need something a little harder.”

“Harder.” Tommy picks up a bong. Takes a rip. Offers it to Brian. Brian shakes him off. “You want drugs?” Tommy says.

Tommy looks at Brian again. Brian doesn't say anything. Brian hasn't said anything since he got off the elevator.

“Pills,” Adam tells Tommy. “How many can you get us?”

Tommy looks at him. Cocks his head. “How many do you want?”

“Lots,” Adam says.

Tommy lights up again. Studies Adam as he inhales. “This isn't just for some party, I guess,” he says.

Adam shakes his head. “Nope.”

“‘Nope.'” Tommy looks at him some more. Then he laughs. “Ice-cold, you are. You want to be a drug dealer. Bona fide.”

“My whole school's on this stuff,” Adam tells him. “They have to get it from somewhere.”

“Somewhere,” Tommy says. “That's the problem. Somewhere is Jamal.”

“Who the hell is Jamal?” Adam says.

Tommy looks at the bong one more time. Like he's debating firing up again. Then he stands. “Come on,” he says. “I'll show you Jamal.”

They ride into downtown in Tommy's five-liter Mustang. It roars. It rumbles. It's hard to converse.

“All of your little friends get their pills from Jamal,” Tommy's yelling over the engine. “Hell,
I
get my pills from Jamal.”

“I'm just talking about Nixon,” Adam yells back. “I don't want the city. What the hell's this guy going to care?”

“Gee, I dunno,” Tommy says. “Rich kids, pretty girls, lots of parties. I'd say he won't like it.”

“Screw him,” Adam says. “It's a free market.”

Tommy laughs. “Yeah,” he says. “Okay. You tell Jamal that. There he is now.”

He pulls the Mustang into a parking lot. Kills the engine and points out the window. A strip club in daylight, the most depressing sight known to man. A cream-colored Lexus sedan with blingy chrome rims. A big Lebanese dude with tats and a shaved head and
muscle
. “Jamal,” Tommy says.

Adam looks at the guy. Adam thinks,
That's a fucking drug dealer.
Adam thinks,
This is way over my head.

Adam thinks:

Scary
.

But then Adam thinks about breaking things off with Janie. He thinks about how Victoria's never coming back. He thinks about how, for the first time ever, Pizza Man Enterprises
actually
lost
Likes on Facebook.

People have their IDs.

They can get their own booze.

Adam's not pulling threesomes with goddesses anymore.

He needs something to stay in the game.

Because:

As soon as the hustle stops, god status disappears. And Adam cannot have that.

Adam wants . . .

Well, he wanted to
win
.

Now he wants to TAKE OVER.

So, fuck Jamal.

“Fuck Jamal,” Adam tells Tommy. “This isn't the movies. I'm not afraid of him.”

Tommy looks at Adam. Looks at Jamal. Laughs and fires up the Mustang again. “Ice-cold,” he says, idling out of the lot. “Ice-fucking-cold.”

Tommy drives them back to the west side. Parks the Mustang and just looks at Adam. “I know a guy who runs separate from Jamal,” he says finally. “I think I can swing something. If you're serious.”

Adam glances at Brian in the backseat. “We're serious,” he says.

“Cash in advance,” Tommy says. “And keep my name out of it. The last thing I need is Jamal on
my
ass.”

“Don't sweat it,” Adam tells him. “We'll stay cool.”

Tommy climbs out of the car. “You sure you know what you're doing, kid?”

Adam looks at him.

(
No.
)

(
Shut up.
)

“Yeah,” Adam says.

(
Taking over.
)

Adam grins. “Tony Montana.”

“We're actually doing this, huh?” Brian says.

It's a couple days later. They're driving away from Tommy's apartment. They've just traded a serious pile of cash for a Ziploc bag filled with pills. Adam has the bag stuffed in the glove box. Brian, he notices, is driving
exactly
the speed limit.

“How do you feel about it?” Adam asks him.

Brian purses his lips. Pulls out to pass a tractor trailer coming down off the bridge and nearly gets creamed by another one. “Shit,” he says, diving back to the slow lane. “I dunno.”

“It's just pills,” Adam tells him. “Harmless. It's not cocaine or anything.”

“It's still drugs,” Brian says.

“It's going to make us rich,” Adam says. “We're going to take over. You'll see.”

Brian drives. Brian sighs. “Yeah,” he says. “Maybe.”

“Just you wait,” Adam tells him. “Just you wait.”

Okay, so Adam has the product. Now he needs the clientele.

Jessie McGill has a chemistry assignment due. Adam finishes it over the weekend. Hands it over Monday morning.

Jessie takes the paper, gives him a quick hug. “Thanks, Pizza Man.” She pulls out her purse. “I have a French assignment coming up. You know any French?”

Adam shrugs. “
Un petit peu
.”

Jessie laughs. “I guess you'll do anything for a price, huh?”

“I guess so,” Adam says. He lowers his voice. “Speaking of, where do you get your drugs?”

Jessie's eyes go wide. “Pardon?”

“Pills,” Adam says. “I came into a few. If you know anybody who's interested.”

“Whoa,” Jessie says. “You're dealing now?”

Adam grins at her. “I'll do anything for a price.”

It's not long before word gets around.

“I hear you're selling,” Sara Bryant tells Adam. “Any good?”

“Top of the line,” Adam tells her. “Tested them myself.”

(
Test
is a funny word for it, he thinks, given that the test pretty much consisted of hooking up with Audrey Klein and tripping balls all weekend, but the high was amazing.)

(So was Audrey Klein.)

(The comedown, not so much.)

Sara makes a face. “Audrey Klein?” she says. “I thought you were mixed up with Janie and Leanne.”

“Got old,” Adam tells her. “Why, you jealous?”

“Hell no,” Sara says. “Some people have standards.”

“And how's Wayne?” Adam says. “You still mixed up in
that
sordid affair?”

Sara frowns. “Oh, quit being so superficial, Pizza Man. Not everyone cares about being popular.”

“I take it you're still going out with him, then,” Adam says.

“He's taking me to dinner on Friday,” Sara says. “Then we're hitting Crash. Which is why I need your hookup, so are you selling or no?”

“I'm selling,” Adam tells her. “How many do you need?”

Sara buys. Jessie buys. Paul Nolan and Alton Di Sousa buy.

Rob Thigpen drops by Cardigan's. “Hear you're holding, Pizza Man,” he tells Adam. “Can I score something?”

Adam gives Rob a big, cheesy fake smile. Adam says: “Of course, buddy. How many do you need?”

Rob buys like five. “Just enough to get me through the weekend.”

Adam charges him double.

Then he puts a blast out on Facebook.
Party favors
, he writes.
Inquire within.

Pretty clear, he figures.

Kids get the point.

They inquire within.

Instant messages on Facebook. Texts. Phone calls. The supply is good. The price is right.

Everyone wants a taste of the stuff that made Janie Ng and Leanne Grayson turn Adam Higgs into a god.

It's not long before the first supply is depleted. Some of that's Adam, if he's being honest. He's giving out tasters. Free samples. He's partying, a little.

(Hey, girls love a god. And Adam's getting decent at the whole sex thing. He worked for this. Why not enjoy it?)

Sam calls Adam. Leaves a message on his phone.

Adam's in the back of a cab when he gets it. He's lost in some suburb in the south end of town, looking for some sophomore's party. He thinks the girl might have left a message with her address. He's scrolling through when Sam's voice comes on.

“Uh, hey, Adam,” Sam says. He clears his throat. “Haven't heard from you in a while, but, uh, the hockey game is next week.”