Recovery Road Read Free Page A

more because you needed that adrenaline rush.”
    “Trust me. They usually did something.”
    She tosses her notebook on her desk. “You know there’s a saying: ‘If you meet three assholes in a day, you’re the asshole.’ Do you think that could be true?”
    “That
I’m
the asshole? No! Are you kidding me?”
    She stares at me.
    “No way,” I say. “I am
never
the asshole.”

8
    T he next movie night, Trish and I get dressed up. We don’t have much to work with but we buy some cheap makeup at the local Rite Aid and slut ourselves up as best we can.
    When the van comes, it’s just Vern and this woman we don’t know. But Vern is in a good mood and he tells us dirty jokes all the way to Carlton. We laugh and goof around and try to gross each other out. The other woman is mostly horrified by the three of us. She’s like a suburban housewife who’s addicted to Ambien.
    There’s only about ten other people at the theater. Vern and Trish and I make fun of the movie. And talk. And gossip about Juan in security. The other people don’t appreciate this. At one point someone threatens to call the manager.
    “Just try it,” says Trish. “My friend Maddie here will kick your ass!”
    “No, I won’t,” I say, shrinking into my seat.
    “Yes, you will. And I’ll help.”
    Afterward, back at the halfway house, Trish and I keep everyone up late watching
America’s Next Top Model
and playing gin rummy and drinking so much Diet Coke our eyes get fuzzy. Everyone tells stories about weird stuff that has happened to them with boys.
    Angela tells about her cousin who started pimping her out to his friends when she was twelve.
    Trish tells about losing her virginity in eighth grade when she was so drunk she couldn’t stand up. “That made it easier for the Hartley brothers,” she says. “I couldn’t get away.” This happened in her parents’ pool house, while her parents were having a party. Trish’s family is sort of crazy, it sounds like. You didn’t even have to leave the house to get into serious trouble.
    My situation was the opposite. I was so bored at home I couldn’t stand it. I was always getting caught crawling out my window. Or trying to steal my mom’s Volvo. Or trying to hitchhike someplace.
    Everyone is horrified when I tell them about the hitchhiking. They act like
that’s
the scariest thing they’ve ever heard of.
    That night when I go to bed, I’m totally wired on Diet Coke. It’s a terrible high, all chemicals and caffeine and my skin is crawling and I can barely stand it. At one point I get the squirmies so bad I kick off my covers and kick the wall about twenty times and then lie there breathing and cursing to myself.
    Nobody says anything, though. Not even Angela, who’s right above me.
    People freaking out at night isn’t that unusual at Spring Meadow. You kinda have to live and let live.

9
    T hen one day Trish starts gathering her stuff. She’s finished her eight weeks in the halfway house. She’s going home.
    For some reason, I have refused to think of her as a real friend. But the minute I realize she’s leaving, I get so panicked I almost throw up.
    I sit on her bunk and watch her fold clothes and put them in her suitcase. She’s worried about her cigarettes because she told her parents she quit, but she didn’t. She tries hiding them in various places in her suitcase. She wonders if she should maybe try to quit now. She goes outside to smoke while she thinks about it.
    I don’t say very much. When Trish goes, the only young person in the house will be Jenna, and I’m not going to be friends with her. She’s horrible. She’s like a wild animal.
    Trish gives me the makeup we bought at Rite Aid, and the barrettes and the lip gloss. She wants to give me stuff, like you do when you say good-bye to someone. I want to give her something too. But we don’t have anything, just our crappyclothes, sweatpants, and the junk they let you have in here: candy bars, gum, trashy