Summer of Seventeen (20 page)

I could tell the moment the Molly started to work. Sean was running sand through his fingers, like the texture of it fascinated him. Then he started talking real fast, some shit about girls and surfing and life in general, that made no fucking sense whatsoever. He was waving his arms around and the other guys were laughing at him.

He leapt to his feet and started going around our group that was spread out loosely under the pier, hitting on girls, even if they were with their boyfriends. He was laughing so hard as he staggered across the sand. I kept an eye on him, because he was likely to get the shit kicked out of him if he carried on like that.

The sun was sinking behind the town and an excited murmur ran through the crowd. As soon as the purple sky faded to black, a single rocket zoomed upward. Then the night exploded, the sound so loud you could feel the heavy thuds of exploding fireworks. The blackness was filled with color and light, and the flashes were caught and reflected in the glassy ocean, a warped mirror of the sky above.

Sean was gazing up, a huge grin spread over his face and he started spinning around, laughing loudly.

Then I saw him fall over. I thought maybe he’d tripped on something, but when he sat up, he looked dizzy.

“Hey,” I said quietly, crouching down next to him. “You okay?”

His pupils were dilated when he looked at me. He was shivering uncontrollably and twitching, but his skin was burning.

“I don’t feel so good, Nick. I’m really hot.”

He almost never called me ‘Nick’; it was always ‘man’ or ‘bro’, so I was immediately worried.

Sean was sweating bullets, even more than the rest of us in the high humidity, and he kept clenching his jaw like he was trying to grind his teeth flat.

People were beginning to stare, and their glances gave me a feeling of ants running across my back.

“Come on,” I said, heaving him to his feet. “Try and, um, walk it off or something.”

He was twitching so bad, he could barely stagger more than a few steps.

“It’s all false,” he started rambling. “It’s just shit. Why can’t anyone see it’s shit? It’s not real. Nobody’s real.”

“Anyone got any downers?” Rob asked, looking slightly concerned through the haze of scented smoke.

I shot him a look. Seriously? That was his way of helping?

Camille came hurrying over.

“Has he taken something?”

“Just some Molly,” Rob slurred, opening another can of beer.

“Molly? What is this?”

Marcus spoke up. “Ecstasy.”

I could see Camille translating in her head, and her eyes widened.

“He is having a bad reaction, I think. You must take him to hospital.”

Everyone started looking nervous, and a few people began to leave. No one wanted to be around if shit was going down.

Hospitals + illegal drugs = no one wants to know you.

Sean looked really sick, and I was beginning to panic.

“We must drive him to hospital,” Camille insisted, looking at Marcus.

He pulled a face.

“I can’t drive him. I’ve been drinking.”

“Then call an ambulance!” she hissed.

“They’ll never make it through these crowds,” I gritted out.

“Fuck,” muttered Marcus. “Fine, we’ll take him in the van.”

We half dragged, half carried Sean through the crowds. Some people threw us disgusted looks, others looked concerned, but mostly people just stepped out of the way. We manhandled Sean into Marcus’ van and Camille stayed with him in the back while I gave Marcus directions to the causeway so we could get to the hospital.

“He’ll be okay,” Marcus said reassuringly. “It’s nothing.”

“I don’t think it is nothing,” Camille snapped. “He is so angry all the time.”

I blinked, not sure what this had to do with Sean taking Molly.

“He’s 17,” said Marcus, sounding rattled.

Camille huffed disbelievingly.

“Why would that make him angry?”

Marcus concentrated on driving before he answered. Maybe he
was
kind of drunk. Shit. I braced against the dashboard with one hand.

“I was like that when I was 17,” explained Marcus. “It’s like, ‘What are you rebelling against?’, ‘Whaddya got?’ You know?”

“I don’t understand,” Camille said frowning.

I looked over my shoulder at her. Sean was lying on an old board bag and she’d covered him with a couple of beach towels that she’d soaked using a bottle of water. I guessed that was to try and cool him down. His skin looked clammy and he was still sweating and shaking.

“Didn’t you ever feel angry … with the world, when you were 17?”

Camille snorted.

“This boy—he drinks and smokes too much weed. It makes him crazy. So do you—but without the crazy. And now this Molly. He needs help.”

“He’s not that bad,” Marcus disagreed. “All the kids do it, don’t they, Nick?”

I turned back to look at Marcus.

“Maybe, I guess. I don’t know. Not this much…”

“He is not healthy,” said Camille softly. “He has nothing in his life. His eyes are empty.”

I shivered at her words and wanted to ask what she meant, but she turned away and was holding Sean’s wrist, counting his heart rate. It must have been going through the roof because her lips were moving rapidly as if she was trying to keep up.

She muttered something under her breath and shook her head.

My heart started to pound, the tempo almost matching Sean’s racing pulse, and my mouth went dry.

I hated this hospital. I’d been here too many times. Too many times, and now with Sean.

Marcus pulled into the front of the ER area, next to a parked ambulance.

“Look, kid,” he said, his voice quietly urgent. “You’ll have to take him. I can’t come in with you—I’ve been drinking. I can’t afford to lose my license. It’ll be cool. Just say you don’t know where he got it, okay? In fact, don’t tell them anything.”

I stared at Camille, but she bit her lip and shook her head.

“Has he got any more?” asked Marcus.

“Fuck,” I whispered. “I don’t know.”

“You find something, you toss it,” snapped Marcus.

“No!” hissed Camille. “He must show it to the doctors so they can decide how to treat him.”

Marcus looked at her coldly. “Yeah, if the kid wants to get arrested along with his fucktard friend.”

He shook his head then jumped out and opened the van’s doors. I hauled Sean to his feet, staggering under his weight as I tried to drag and carry him through the ER doors. I heard the van pull away before we were inside.

A nurse ran over as soon as she saw me, and called to an orderly to bring a wheelchair.

She started yelling questions at me.

What happened?

What has he taken?

How long has he been like this?

My hands were shaking and it was hard to concentrate on giving her answers.

Sean was wheeled away. I tried to go with him, but the nurse gave me a long, hard look.

“Have you taken anything?”

“What? No. I haven’t had anything. Is he going to be okay?”

“You can help him by answering some questions at the registration desk,” she snapped, hurrying away.

I stumbled to the desk she pointed at, and a clipboard was shoved into my hands.

“We need to call his parents,” the registration clerk said, her voice softening as she looked at me.

I pulled my phone out to give her the number for Sean’s mom and dad.

Oh shit. He was going to be in so much trouble
. But I had no choice.

I filled in his name, address, and date of birth; but I couldn’t answer any of the questions about insurance, allergies, or previous illnesses.

When I handed the clipboard back, the clerk looked at me sympathetically.

“They’ll take real good care of your friend.”

I stared at her numbly.

“Why don’t you sit down to wait for him.”

I sank onto a hard, plastic chair, my head in my hands.

I didn’t want to believe this was happening. Not Sean, too.
It wasn’t fucking fair.

My phone beeped, making me jump.

* Heard you are at hospital. What happened? Are you ok? Do you need me to come? Y x *

Before I could reply, Sean’s parents rushed in. They were dressed up, like they’d just come from a fancy party. They didn’t see me sitting in the corner. Mrs. Wallis was clutching at the pearls around her neck while Mr. Wallis strode up to the registration desk and demanded to see his son. When the clerk explained that he couldn’t yet, his volume rose.
My rights
, blah blah;
my son
, blah, blah;
sue you
, blah blah.

She’d probably heard it all before, because she just handed him the same clipboard I’d written on and waved them both into a seat.

That’s when they saw me.

“I might have known,” barked Mr. Wallis, marching across to stand over me. “I’ve been telling Sean for years that he should find better friends. You’ll regret fucking with my family!”

I stared at him. The guy really was a Grade-A asshole. No wonder Sean was so messed up.

He ranted on for a while, and I was kind of fascinated as the spit flew from his mouth while his face got redder and redder. It was like watching through a plate-glass window: I was aware of sounds, but none of it touched me.

By the time he got to shrieking pitch, one of the male orderlies told him to calm down or he’d be asked to leave. There was some more shouting and yelling, before Mrs. Wallis whispered something to him.

He looked around, realized he was causing a scene, and shut right up. Maybe he was worried that someone from the country club would see him.

They sat at the other end of the room, staring at me as if I was a walking disease.

When Mr. Wallis pulled out his phone and started shouting at someone else, I lost interest. Quietly, I walked over to the registration desk.

“Is there any news about my friend, Sean Wallis?”

The clerk gave me another sympathetic smile.

“Not yet, honey. But I’ll let you know as soon as there is.” Then she lowered her voice. “They’ll only let his family in to see him…”

I had to swallow the rock choking me before I could speak. “Yeah, but I just want to know he’s okay.”

She patted my hand. “I’ll let you know.”

I nodded and slumped into my seat again, avoiding Mrs. Wallis’ eyes lasering into me, trying to burn me into dust. She didn’t need to make so much effort, I was almost there already. My throat was Sahara dry even though my palms were sweating in the air-conditioned waiting room.

I thought I hated Sean’s parents then, but it wasn’t a fraction of the hatred I felt when two police officers walked in and Mr. Wallis pointed at me and roared, “That’s the boy who gave my son drugs!”

My stomach lurched as everyone turned to stare at me, disapproval and disgust in their eyes.

“I didn’t!” I stuttered, but Mr. Wallis shouted me down.

“You’ve always been a bad influence,” he accused. “Every time Sean got into trouble, you were there. I’ve always known it would come to this, the drinking, and now drugs—God knows what else. You probably supply half the High School.”

“That’s bullshit!” I shouted back, standing up so fast my chair rocked dangerously before clattering to the floor.

“I want him arrested!” yelled Mr. Wallis. “And you can bet your ass I’ll be pressing charges!”

“All right,” said one of the police officers calmly, “I think we should take this down to the station.”

“I’m not leaving my son,” Mrs. Wallis said, speaking for the first time.

There was a pause, then the officer turned to me again.

“I’ll need to see some ID.”

My hands were shaking as I dug into my wallet and pulled out my driver’s license.

The cop scanned it quickly then passed it to his colleague.

I think it would be best if you came with us to answer some questions, Mr. Andrews.”

“I didn’t do anything!” I insisted, my voice coming out in a croak as I started to panic.

“We’ll need to contact your parents,” he said, as if I hadn’t spoken.

My stomach was rolling so badly, I thought I was going to throw up.

“Mom’s dead,” I said.

The cops exchanged a look, then handed back my ID and told me to go with them.

Mr. Wallis didn’t even look at me as I was escorted from the hospital—he was shouting at the woman at the registration desk again.

And it didn’t matter how much I denied knowing anything about the drugs Sean had taken: when you’re 17, wearing old clothes, and have ‘no discernible parental authority’, and the guy who’s accusing you wears a fancy suit and drives a new Mercedes, you’ll be the one sitting in a patrol car on your way to a police station for questioning.

I thought I was going to be arrested like Mr. Wallis wanted, but instead they made me give them Julia’s number, even though she wasn’t my legal guardian. Then I had to hand over my phone, wallet and house keys before they left me in an interview room. At least it wasn’t a cell. Maybe that’s because I was still a minor.

It seemed like forever before Julia arrived. She was with Ben, shocked as well as angry.

I looked up and met her eyes. She looked like she was going to cry.

“I didn’t do it.”

She bit her lip and shook her head slightly.

We were joined by a guy who introduced himself as Officer Flowers. I kind of wanted to laugh.

“Just tell the truth, Nicky,” Julia said. “That’s all you have to do.”

So I did. And then she looked at me, and the police officer looked at me, and I could tell that neither one of them believed a single word.

“It’ll go easier on you if you tell the truth, son,” said Officer Flowers.

I stared at him. “I’m not your son.”

My voice was bitter and cold. I wasn’t anyone’s son. I was a friend, a brother, a boyfriend, but I wasn’t anyone’s son.

He looked bored and irritated.

“Supplying is a felony,” he snapped. “You’re in a whole world of hurt here.”

“I don’t supply.”

“Just tell the truth, Nicky,” Julia begged.

I fisted my hands in my hair, frustration burning through the weird lethargy.

“I am!” I yelled, shooting to my feet. “But you won’t fucking believe me!”