Part 2.

Sad to say, being called a girl annoyed me — I'm a legacy, not a plebe like PJ — but I needed the coke. Besides, Squee was just messing, so I followed them through the dancing and drinking mob and up three flights of stairs to the deserted senior floor. Squee opened his door, motioning us in with goofy formality.

We entered. Squee shut and locked the door, before prying up a floorboard and removing a small lock-box. "Now bitches, let's get lit."

"Hell yeah," I said, plopping into a chair on his desk, closing and moving a heavy textbook out of the way before setting down my beer.

Squee took out a mirror and, with well-practiced precision, began chopping lines for us. He looked up at me, and said, "You say your brother's Fenton?"

I nodded.

"Decent guy," he said.

"He has his moments, like all bratty little brothers."

And then, without me knowing why, I snapped around and PJ was behind me, smiling a Cheshire Cat smile. Creepy as fuck, so I grabbed my beer and stood. Hell, I'd been hazed and done the hazing in this house, so I know when something's up. But Squee moved to his little fridge and came out with three dark bottles of Great Lakes Barleywine, a kick-ass regional microbrew, opening one for each of us and handing them around.

PJ began chugging the bottle.

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"Whoa!" Squee shot to his feet. "Hold on there, cowboy. This is quality stuff. You don't drink it like a cheap-ass can of Bud. This, you savor." He stood, chugging the beer he'd bought from downstairs and wiping out the inside of the red plastic cup with a napkin, then pouring the microbrew into it. "And use your cup."

PJ looked my way, and we shrugged and followed Squee's lead, shooting the rest of our beers and wiping clean the cups. I must have been drunker than I thought, because as I poured my microbrew I grew woozie, plopping back into the chair. Squee resumed chopping two lines with the razor blade, grinning at me.

"Damn, you okay?"

I put my hand to my head, growing super-weary super-fast. "I dunnoooo, drunker 'aaaan I thhhhought" I said, my tongue sticking like taffy to the roof of my mouth. "Just neeeed thaaaat bump, braaaah. To. Waaaake. Uuuuuup."

"We got your bump," PJ said.

And they laughed.

My head slipped down and my eyes closed, and I struggled to stay awake. Through the cotton-fuzz my mind had become, I heard Squee: "He get back to you?"

I shook opened my eyes and struggled to my feet as PJ pulled out his phone. "Yeah. Doesn't have a sister. Reckons she's a clinger stalking him."

I asked, "Whoooz thaaa?'

They looked at me, then rolled their eyes at each other, chuckling.

"Neeed. Aaaaiiiirrrrrrr," I said, weaving towards the window, my legs shaky and head flopping. But PJ grabbed my arm, steering me to a seat. Soft. So soft.

He left me go. "I got the window for you, girl."

I flopped back, no control over myself, realizing I was on the bed. Unable to keep my eyes open, I wanted to scream "Girl? I'm a dude, fucker."

But I couldn't. My mouth and tongue felt like molasses, and all I could manage was an inarticulate mumble.

Reality went black, though my mouth still tasted of cloves.