Love Drugged (21 page)

On one hand, I didn’t need to worry about getting the pills anymore. I had a dependable source now—
the only
dependable source, in fact. And I was relieved that Dr. Gamez now knew about the side effects. For the first time in weeks, I felt less worried about my health.

But how was it possible that someone I had trusted and admired as much as Dr. Gamez could turn out to be so selfish? All those months of his generosity and warmth—was it only a strategy? An investment of superficial kindness in the interest of a gigantic financial payoff?

Worst of all, now two people knew my secret: Crazy Paul and Dr. Gamez.

All I’d learned so far was that when people discovered my secret, it gave them power over me, and I hated that.

twenty-two

I took the pills as instructed—two pills each day, first thing in the morning.

On Wednesday afternoons, when Celia had dance class, I took the bus to check in with Dr. Gamez. Each visit, he checked my vitals. He asked too many questions about my private thoughts and daydreams. He taped tiny monitors to my chest and wrists, then showed me pictures of models torn from
Seventeen, Teen Vogue,
GQ,
and
Men’s Health
. Hundreds of pictures. Sometimes I’d get distracted, thinking about how much cash he must have dropped on magazine subscriptions.

His note taking was
rigorous
and
thorough
—“the hallmarks,” he said, “of good work in a laboratory.”

Quiet music always played on his sleek little stereo. He preferred Bach: slow piano notes, rising and falling, with occasional flourishes. The effect was either calming or creepy, depending on my mood.

His office was filled with interesting things. World maps, fancy silver scales, a doll-sized plaster statue of the Blessed Virgin. I was curious about a white metal contraption that looked like a cross between a desktop computer and the fancy chrome espresso machine at Rita’s café.

“What is that thing?”

He followed my gaze. “That
thing
is an electron microscope.”

I studied it more closely, thinking of the cheap desktop microscopes we had at school. In comparison, this thing was badass. I wondered if it could show me eyelash bugs.

“Hands off,” Dr. Gamez said, without looking up from his notebook. “That piece of equipment is worth more than the ramshackle apartment building you live in.”

I withdrew my hand.

A row of plastic pill bottles on his desk reminded me of the window ledge in my grandparents’ bathroom.

I picked up one of the bottles. “What are these for?”

He looked at my hand. “Those have been on the market for years. They alleviate the very common phobia of public speaking.”

I put them down, picked up another. “And these?”

He barely lifted his eyes. “Used by veterinarians … to eliminate aggression in dogs.”

An antique table next to his desk was arrayed with more things to look at: the security monitor, a waxy gray skull, and two glass jars of what looked like white marshmallows in liquid. I pointed. “What’s that stuff?”

“Those are lithium hydroxide pellets from Argentina. Lithium is commonly used as an anti-depressant.” He sighed as if annoyed. “Now, Jamie, that is enough. I am not your teacher, and I need to concentrate.”

I had to admit, it was a relief to be under a doctor’s care. The process of becoming straight didn’t seem half as dangerous. But I always dreaded his final words as I left the office, some variation of, “Please be sure to clean the bathroom before you go.” Or, “The floors in the lab require mopping, Jamie. Please go over them again—this time
thoroughly
.” He seemed to take perverse pleasure in this aspect of our relationship, signing off on my service-hours form like a sadistic parole officer.

Celia didn’t like this development any better than I did. “I feel like you’re my father’s
maid
suddenly,” she said. “Can’t you cut lawns or something?”

“It’s not about money,” I said. “I need the service hours.” But this reasoning didn’t make her any happier.

Sometimes I still had bouts of blurry vision. Dr. Gamez suspected this was ordinary eyestrain—“perfectly
common
”—and he suggested I see a regular optometrist about glasses.

On some mornings, I felt the familiar ache in my shoulders. Dr. Gamez assured me it had nothing to do with the drug. “Normal tension,” he said. “Your family’s financial situation may very well be the source of that.”

This might have been true. My parents’ package business, as I had long dreaded and expected, was a flop.

“It’s a seasonal business,” my father explained, waving away my concerns before school one morning. It was late April. I sat on their dining room floor, eating a cold Pop-Tart. Next to me, rolls of Christmas gift-wrap were still stacked against the wall.

“We were busy during the holidays, we’ll be busy again,” he said. “Wait until May and June. Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, graduations, weddings. We’ll be
buried.
”

My mother looked up from a computer spreadsheet. “Honest to God, I don’t know where all the money went. I thought I was getting pretty good at accounting.”

“In the meantime,” Dad said, “Ronnie’s got me up the wazoo with landscaping projects.”

I cringed, imagining my father and me competing for jobs in the summer.

My brain reviewed the few times I’d taken money from the cash box. It couldn’t have made that much of a difference.

I sneezed. On top of everything else, I’d caught a cold. I sneezed three more times while I finished the Pop-Tart. It was the generic kind, but it tasted better than anything I could find in my grandparents’ kitchen.

“Stay home,” my mother suggested. “Spend the day in bed.”

“I can’t miss today. Too much going on.” I didn’t like being around them when things were so tense financially, even if I was partially to blame.

Things were changing between Celia and me. She’d been angry ever since our conversation about birth control. I thought I had been appropriately casual about her big revelation, but now I realized I’d been too cool. Had she really expected me to leap into bed with her just because she was on the Pill? Would most straight boys have jumped at the chance? Whatever happened to waiting until junior year to have sex?

Celia stopped meeting me in the Commons before school. At her locker, her smiles seemed forced. In the library and the cafeteria, she spent more time sitting with her girlfriends, whispering stories with a long-suffering expression. She was letting me know I’d blown it big time.

In homeroom, Mr. Mallet raced through the daily announcements. His tone was a combination of anger and boredom, as if he were only reading us our Miranda Rights so he could arrest us. I couldn’t believe I’d ever thought those silly, tight coach’s shorts were sexy.

I grabbed a tissue from his desk and blew my nose. My snot was dark red, almost brown.

You have the right to be surprised by bloody snot.

You have the right to be grossed out.

You have the right to be concerned.

This wasn’t a normal nosebleed. I excused myself and went straight to the bathroom, holding the tissue against my nose.

In the bathroom, I encountered a familiar face standing at the sink.

“Jamie, hi,” Ivan said.

“What are you doing here?” I asked stupidly.

What else do you do in the bathroom, perv?

Because of the drug, I didn’t get the same spark from Ivan that I once did, but somehow I still managed to act insane around him.

He held up a notebook. “I can’t study in homeroom. I’ve got a Chem quiz in five minutes, and this was the best place I could think to go. Is something wrong?”

“I’m sick.” I stared at myself in the mirror. My face looked paler than ever, my eyes were bloodshot. I tried to see up into my nostrils. “I have a bloody nose, but I think I’m really sick.”

“Celia will take care of you.”

“Maybe. We’re going through a rough patch.”

“Yeah?”

I nodded. “These days, she’ll be happier to let me suffer.”

“Too bad.” He gave me a small, sympathetic smile, but then glanced down at his notebook. Whenever we were alone, Ivan continued to keep his distance, as if I’d taught him a hard lesson he wouldn’t forget.

I went to the stall for some toilet paper so I could blow my nose again. More bloody brown gunk.

Oh my grossness.

This was freaking me out—scarier than blurry vision or spastic joints. I felt light-headed.

“You know, Jamie,” Ivan said slowly, “I want to talk to you about something.”

I sort of froze above the toilet. “Yeah? Hold on a sec.” I wiped my face with tissue and stepped out of the stall. “What’s up?”

“It probably doesn’t matter anymore, old news. But since we’re alone, maybe there’s no harm.”

“No harm in what?”

He smiled again, a little guiltily this time. “I don’t want to get in trouble for saying this.”

“Trust me, I won’t tell anybody.” What kind of secret did Ivan have to share with me?

Opportunities arrive like trains …

“It’s about the flowers.”

Did he mean the unsigned flowers I had sent him? That was ancient history. I leaned against the sink, steadying myself with my hands. “Which flowers?”

“From the Valentine’s fundraiser. The unsigned ones.”

My heart nearly burst through my T-shirt. I was totally busted. Maybe he’d known all along. “Okay, about those—” I started to say, but he interrupted.

“Those came from Anella.”

… And they depart like trains.

I stared at him. I wanted to say,
No, dummy, they came from me!
But then I realized he meant the other flowers, the ones I had received. “Anella sent those?”

“She likes you very much.”

It had never crossed my mind that Anella had sent the mystery flowers. I always assumed it was Mimi, or maybe some random classmate. Anella hadn’t even made a blip on my radar screen. Just like I never made a blip on Ivan’s.

“Jamie, I’m only telling you this now because if you and Celia stop dating, our friend Anella would be interested to hear it.”

“Thanks. Like I said, I think we’re only going through a rough patch.”

He nodded.

It struck me that there were probably people like Anella all over the school—all over the world—wasting too much time with people they didn’t have the slightest chance with. This knowledge made me feel worse than ever.

The bell rang, and Ivan tapped his notebook. “Time to go kick some butt in Chemistry.”

“Wait—Ivan. Please don’t tell Anella that Celia and I are having problems. I don’t want to get her hopes up, you know?”

He nodded as if he understood, and walked out.

Ivan, too, had no idea what he’d once meant to me. Now, thanks to Dr. Gamez and his pills, he’d never know. Maybe that was for the best. I felt bad that Ivan was lonely, but given the circumstances, I wasn’t the right guy to be his friend anyway. He was better off without me.

I blew my nose again. Scary Gunk City.

I returned to homeroom to grab my books. Celia used to wait for me there, but she’d stopped coming. Just as well, I thought.

She doesn’t care. It’s really over.

It would have been difficult to imagine a day that sucked more than this one did. I needed to go home. I went to the main office to call my parents. As I entered the reception area, I heard a loud whisper: “Hey!”

Wesley was sitting in one of the wooden chairs outside the dean’s office. His flannel shirt was torn and he had a black eye. He looked awful.

“Holy crap. What happened to you?”

He grinned and lifted a finger. “A case of mistaken identity, as it turns out. Which got a little out of hand.”

“I guess so.” I sat uneasily in the chair next to him. This was a notorious spot at Maxwell. It was where students waiting for parents could often be seen vomiting. The area always smelled like floor polish and vinegar. “Are you okay?” I asked Wes.

He shook his head and raised his eyebrows, staring into space as if he knew very little about the situation himself. “They’re calling my parents. I think they’re going to suspend me.”

“Damn, really?”

“Hey, take this.” He handed me his yellow
Spanks For Not Smoking!
lighter.

I stuffed it into my pocket. “You’re giving up the smoke?”

“That’s a
loan.
I don’t want my parents finding it. I’m in enough trouble.”

“Wes, listen to me. Tell them about the Ritalin.”

“Nah.”

“You’ve got to. This is enough. First the baseball, and now this? Ever since you stopped taking it, you’ve been acting like a nut.”

His lip twisted defensively. “Only sometimes.”

“No, all the time.”

“How do you know how I act
all the time
? We never see you, now that you’re with Celia.”

I hesitated, acknowledging the truth of this. “Being off the pills isn’t good for you, Wes. Mimi and I have talked about it.”

He leaned toward me, eyes blazing. I realized he was furious. He was as pissed-off at me as he was at the rest of the world. “You and Mimi? Have talked about it?”

I nodded, even though he’d caught me in a lie. But a tiny lie, in comparison to all the others.

“I doubt that.” He sneered. “Give me a break. Mimi doesn’t even like you.”

This stung for a second. Since the very first day I’d met her, I had tried to be nice around her, despite how mean she was to me.