2
" Whatever it is," I said, " the point is moot because as long as I'm on these pills, I can't make contact to ask." Derek ... snapped, " Then you need to stop taking the pills." Love to. If I could. But after what happened last night, they're giving me urine tests now." Ugh. That's harsh." Simon went quiet, then snapped his fingers.Hey, I've got an idea. It's kinda gross, but what if you take the pills, crush them and mix them with your, you know, urine." Derek stared at him.What?" You did pass chem last year, didn't you?" Simon flipped him the finger. " Okay, genius, what's your idea?" I'll think about it. ..." ***Here," Derek whispered, pressing an empty Mason jar into my hand. He'd pulled me aside after class and we were now standing at the base of the boy's staircase. " Take this up to your room and hide it." It's a ... jar." He grunted, exasperated that I was so dense I failed to see the critical importance of hiding an empty Mason jar in my room.It's for your urine." My what?" He rolled his eyes, a growl-like sound sliding through his teeth ashe leaned down, closer to my ear. " Urine. Pee. Whatever. For the testing." I lifted the jar to eye level. " I think they'll give me somethingsmaller." ...You took your meds today, right?" he whispered.I nodded.Then use this jar to save it." Save . . . ?" Your urine. If you give them some of today's tomorrow, it'll seem like you're still taking your meds." You want me to . . . dole it out? Into specimen jars?" Got a better idea?" Um, no, but ..." I lifted the jar and stared into it.Oh, for God's sake. Save your piss. Don't save your piss. It's all the same to me." Simon peeked around the corner, brows lifted. " I was going to ask what you guys were doing, but hearing that, I think I'll pass. "
9
" Had Stella been named anything else, and/or had we lived in any other city besides New Orleans, my desperate call would have been just my desperate call. In that alternate universe the neighbors might have peeked from behind the curtains but they wouldn't have laughed or, worse, joined in. But you simply cannot shout the name Stella while standing under a window in New Orleans and hope for anything like an authentic or even mildly earnest moment. Literature had beaten me to this moment, had staked its flag here first, and there was nothing I could do outside in that soupy, rain-drenched alleyway that could rise above sad parody. Perhaps if she'd been named Beatrice, or Katarzyna-maybe then my life would have turned out differently. Maybe then my voice would have roused her to the window, maybe then I could have told her that I was sorry, that I could be a better man, that I couldn't promise I knew everything it meant but I loved her. Instead I stared up at that black window, shutmouthed and impotent, blinking and reblinking my eyes to flush out the rainwater. " Stella," I whispered. The French have an expression: " Without literature life is hell." Yeah, well. Life with it bears its own set of flames. "
15
" Do you know why the lotus is one of my favorite flowers?" I cocked my head to one side so I could see his expression. He shook his head. " This beautiful flower lives in the most vile, muddy water of swamps and bogs," I said and rubbed the smooth metal of the pendant between my fingers. He frowned. " No, seriously... the grosser the environment, the better," I said. " So let me get this straight. You like a flower that lives in disgusting places?" One of his eyebrows rose. " That ain't right." " No, I love this flower," I corrected. He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, " Seriously?" " What?" You don't believe me?" " Sure, I believe you. It's just weird." " I'll tell you why, but only if you promise not to laugh," I said. He nodded. Taking a cleansing breath, I rested my head against the seat, closed my eyes, and took that scary first step. " This flower stays in the mud and muck all night long." I peeked at him without moving my head. His face had become set in the smooth lines of one who listens intently. " Then, at sunrise, it climbs toward the light and opens into a pristine bloom. After the sun goes down, the bloom sinks into the mire. Even though it spends the whole night underwater, the flower emerges every morning as beautiful as the day before." Smiling, I swiveled in my seat to face him. " I love this flower because it reminds me that we get second chances every day, no matter what muck life drags us through. "
18
" While gently pushing her towards the dressing room, Lazarus ventured, " Can I ask you something kind of personal?" Pulling her shirt over her head behind the curtain, and holding her hand out for the corset, she replied, " Anything for you, Laz." " How are you still friends with him?" " Can you hook this thing?" Holding the corset on her stomach, Lazarus peeked through the curtain, fingers deftly snapping the twenty hook-and-eye latches. " He saved my life. There are a million reasons to hate him, but there are a million and one reasons to forgive him for his faults." Twisting to look in the mirror, adjusting her breasts in the tight silk, she continued, " He'll say the worst thing at the worst possible time, except every once in awhile, he says the one most perfect thing that just makes you want to cry from happiness. He knows the exact way you need to be touched at any moment, in any mood, like he's fucking telepathic. He'll make you want to scream when he ignores you, but then you find out he knows your favorite color, your favorite meal, what movie makes you cry and he can list every little thing in the entire world that you hate. And mostly? Well," Turning to face Lazarus and strike a pose, " I just can't fucking stop. "