Playing with Fire (11 page)

“Illegal ways.”

“Of course.”

“Have you told your counselor about this?”

He shakes his head.

“Have you told anyone?”

He points at me.

“So you're still taking your little happy pills?”

“I have to. I need them.”

“Where do you get them?”

“Here and there.” He shrugs. “I have connections.”

“Right…”

“That's why I couldn't take that drug test.”

“Obviously.” Suddenly I feel really uncomfortable. I mean, I work with the police, I'm on the drug task force, and I'm sitting here listening to compromising confessions from my friend. What am I supposed to do? I shoot up a quick prayer, asking God for some direction.

“I probably shouldn't have told you.” Garrett is looking down at his coffee again, and I can tell he's feeling lousy.

“No, no…” I study him for a moment, considering all this guy has been through—an abusive dad, the fear that he was gay, his obsession with suicide, and this addiction problem. “I'm glad you told me, Garrett. They say the first step in recovery is admitting you have a problem.”

He frowns. “How. do you know about recovery?”

So I tell him a bit about Zach. I don't go into all the details but enough to help him understand that I know a little about this. I even tell him that Zach is still struggling and that I had to sort of rope him into going to a meeting tonight.

“Maybe I should go too.”

I nod eagerly. “Yes, you really should.”

He slumps slightly now.

“But even more than that, you need to get help from your counselor, Garrett. It's possible you really do have a
chemical imbalance and need some form of treatment. I mean, there was the whole suicide thing…”

“Yeah, but I've heard that using antidepressants can lead to suicide, especially for teens.”

“Really?”

He nods sadly. “You know me, Sam. I do my research.”

“And knowing this, you continued to use them anyway?”

“That's the big problem with addiction. You do it, despite the risks, despite what it does to you. I know it doesn't really make sense. It's like you don't own it; it owns you.”

“Do you want to quit?” I study his expression carefully now.

He looks back at me with somber eyes. “Yes.”

I believe him. “Then you're going to need some help. I mean, besides me, although I'll do what I can. You need professional help.”

“You really think I should tell my counselor?”

“I think it's a place to start.”

“I really do want to be free of this,” he admits. “It's stressful trying to get the pills…sometimes not even being sure if they're the real thing or a ripoff.”

“Or what if they had something really harmful in them?” I suggest.

“I've considered that.”

“Do you think you'll be able to tell your counselor, Garrett?”

He shrugs. “I meet with her tomorrow.”

“How about if I drive you?” I offer. “And I could even come in with you if it would help. I mean, just while you told her about this. I wouldn't stay for your whole session or anything.”

“Kind of an accountability thing?”

“Yes, to encourage you.”

He smiles a little. “Okay.”

“What time is your appointment?”

“Four.”

“So, it's a date?”

He agrees, and I offer him a ride home in my new car.

“Beats walking,” he says as we stand to leave.

Then I remember Zach. “I need to pick up my brother at the community center. His NA meeting. Do you mind?”

He laughs. “Hey, maybe it'll inspire me to go to the next meeting myself.”

But when we get to the community center, I don't see Zach anywhere. We go inside, and although there are a few stragglers after the meeting, Zach doesn't seem to be around. And I am totally bummed by this.

“I wonder if he even went to the meeting,” I say to Garrett as we get back in the car.

“Maybe he caught a ride with someone else.”

“He could've called me.” I feel angry as I start my car. Why is Zach acting like this? What is wrong with him? Doesn't he want to get well?

“Are you crying, Sam?”

I reach up, wipe my cheek, and nod. Realizing I'm not fit to drive, íturn off the engine and just sit there with both hands gripping the steering wheel. “I know it's stupid to take this, you know, so personally,” I sob out. “But I really do love my brother…and l-l just want him to beat this thing. But it's like he's not…he's not even trying.” Then I lean my head on the steering wheel and just cry.

Garrett reaches over and actually puts his hand on my shoulder now. “Drugs are seriously messed up, Sam.”

I turn to look at him, surprised that he seems to be feeling sorry for me now. I just nod and wipe the tears from my face, trying to get control again.

“Sorry,” I tell him.

“It's okay.”

“I so wish there were no such thing as drugs. I hate how they mess people up. Good people too. Like you and Zach. It's just so wrong.”

He shrugs. “Or just the human condition.”

I nod. “Yeah, the human condition without God. People need God more than they need drugs. I wish everyone could see that.”

“Maybe you should make a bumper sticker,” he teases. “Instead of Hugs, Not Drugs, yours could say God, Not Drugs.”

I restart my car. “Yeah, well, maybe I should. I mean, hugs are good and fine. But God's love and strength can get you through a whole lot more than a hug can.”

T
he next day I decide to drive Olivia to school for a

I change. I don't give her any warning though. I just go over to her house about ten minutes before she'd normally leave and knock on the door.

“What're you doing here?” she asks.

“Picking you up.”

“Huh?”

I nod over my shoulder to where my green Bug is parked in her driveway.

“Whose car?”

“Mine.”

“Seriously?”

So I do my little spiel about how Mom helped me and how I'd been saving and the timing was just right.

“That is so cool, Sam. Let me grab my stuff and I'm ready.”

It feels so great to be driving my own car. Okay, it's not really
my
car, but it's almost the same. And already I'm entertaining ideas of offering to buy it from the police department…someday.

“How'd it go with Garrett last night?”

Before I dropped Garrett at home, I told him that Olivia
really loves him too and has been praying for him, and he said it was okay to let her know about his “little problem.” I try not to make it sound overwhelming, but even so, she is dismayed.

“I just wouldn't have thought he'd fall into something like that,” she finally says.

“Because he's too smart?” I say in a slightly sarcastic tone.

She sighs loudly, then throws up her hands. “Oh, I don't know… I guess I really don't understand about this crud. Doing drugs, to me, is like taking a club and beating yourself over the head with it. I mean, I just don't get it.”

I laugh. “That's because you're just so healthy. You should thank God for that, Olivia.”

“Yeah, I guess. But for the grace of God that could be me, huh?”

“You never know.”

“Well, it's just hard to imagine.”

“It's not hard for me to imagine.”

“That's because God gives you visions and things.”

The image of Felicity in that vision flashes through my mind now, and I almost say something. But then I remember I never told Olivia about it. I didn't describe how it looked like Felicity was dead or how it seemed like drugs were involved. And if I'm going to succeed in my undercover investigating, I'll need to remain quiet. But I do tell Olivia about how Garrett said I could go to his counselor with him. “To help him get this out in the open,” I say. “Kind of an accountability thing.”

“Would you drop me off at Cameron's to practice first?”

“Sure. Two days in a row?”

“Yeah, we have a gig tomorrow night.”

“What kind of gig?”

She frowns now. “Well, it's a party…but Cameron assured me it won't be anything like that last one.” Then she looks hopefully at me. “You wouldn't want to come along, would you?”

Okay, I'd like to tell her to forget it. I mean, when I think about where we ended up after the last one, it seems crazy. But then I remember that I'm on a job now. I'm doing surveillance. Who knows what I might uncover at a Friday-night party? And so I agree.

Olivia laughs as I park my car away from the others. “Trying to protect your baby Bug?”

“You know how careless some high-school kids can be,” I say sheepishly. “I don't want to get door dings the first time I drive it to school.”

I have journalism second period and am dismayed to see that Felicity is absent today. Okay, it could just be a normal absence—she might have the flu or even be skipping —but because of that vision…well, I'm worried.

I wish I knew her phone number, but I don't. Finally, at lunchtime, I decide to approach the only one I can think of who's actually her friend. Jack.

Naturally, Jack probably wouldn't be in the cafeteria with the seminormal people. But I know some of his hangouts, and I decide to go look around. I clue Olivia in to my plans, but I tell her I need to do this alone.

“Just get me a salad.” I hand her some money. “Hopefully, I'll be back in a few minutes.”

“Should I tell Conrad what you're doing?”

I shrug. “Whatever.”

Then I set out to find Jack. But I do not look forward
to speaking with this dude. The truth is, he creeps me out. And okay, I know God loves him. And I have been praying for him. But the idea of actually talking to him is unnerving.

After checking out a couple of his favorite haunts, I start to wonder if he's not here today either. Maybe they are skipping together. Maybe they're off getting high or making a drug deal. The thought of this makes me feel slightly sick. Then just as I'm about to give up, I spot Jack over by the west parking lot. He's with a couple of his friends. Kids that if I weren't a Christian, I would call losers. Losers. But God loves them. God loves them. This is what I tell myself as I walk toward them.

They stop talking when I'm about twenty feet from them. They're still smoking, and what they're smoking doesn't even look like cigarettes but probably weed. Oh, well. There are three guys, and they're all just staring at me with suspicious eyes. I feel like I'm in over my head, so I pray as I take a couple more steps.
God, help me.

“Hey, Jack,” I call out in a friendly tone. His brows pull together, and he glares at me. I can tell he doesn't want me around. I probably remind him of Olivia…and how She's part of the reason he's out of the band now.

“I just wanted to ask you something.”

He growls a profanity, and a skinny blond guy hits him in the arm with his fist. “Lighten up, Jack,”

“Yeah, man,” says the other guy. “The lady just wants to talk to you.”

“And she's cute,” says the skinny blond.

“Thanks,” I say with a forced smile. “I don't want to interrupt you guys, but I'm looking for Felicity.”

Jack's eyes flicker with interest for a second, then he scowls. “Why?”

“She wasn't in journalism today, and I need to talk to her about something.”

“What?”

“Just a project. Do you know where she is or how I can get hold of her?”

“Jack's been calling her all morning,” says the blond guy. The girl's not answering.”

“Yeah,” says the other guy. “Jack's getting nervous.”

“She's probably dumping him,” says the blond.

“Shut up, Garth!” snaps Jack.

“So you haven't seen her?” Okay, now I'm getting concerned, but I try to remain nonchalant. I can't let on that I'm worried about her.

Jack shakes his head and actually seems to soften some. “I haven't seen her since yesterday.”

I think this could be my opportunity. “For what it's worth,” I begin carefully, “I don't think Felicity is dumping Jack.” I say this to the blond guy named Garth. “From what she's told me, Jack is-her best friend. She seems to like him a lot.”

“She told you that?” asks Jack.

“Yeah.”

He nods now, and I see a trace of sadness in his eyes.

“I know she's been lonely since transferring here from Madison,” I continue, thinking I should at least make myself a case. “I've been trying to get to know her. She seems pretty cool. And she's smart too.”

“Yeah,” he says, “she is.”

“Do you think she might be sick?”

He just shrugs.

“Or maybe just skipping?” I add.

“Maybe.”

“Well, could I get her phone number from you so I can tell her about this journalism project? We're supposed to have partners for it, and I wanted her to be mine.” Okay, this isn't exactly true, and I'm feeling desperate as the image of an unconscious Felicity on that red sofa flashes through my head again.

“Yeah, I guess it's okay.” Jack glances at his buddies, and they sort of nod their approval. “You got a pen?”

I quickly pull out a pen and a scrap of paper and write down what is obviously a cell phone number. “Sorry to bug you guys,” I say as I slip it back into my bag.

“It's okay,” says Jack.

“You want me to tell her to call you if I get hold of her?”