Page 25 of Under the Influence

I'm snapped from a daze as I push my French toast around on my plate. "What?"

"Did you drop advanced Chem?" my mother asks as she sits across from me, a small coffee cup in her hand.

"Yep."

She pulls it to her lips, glaring at me over the rim. I expect her to lecture me or ask me why I'm not taking it, but she doesn't. Instead, she brings up Madden, which pisses me off.

"When are you going to stop letting this boy stand between you and your future?"

I let out a sarcastic laugh, "I guess when you stop letting dad stand between you and yours."

I've told Mom repeatedly that Mad and I are just friends, but she refuses to hear it. In her eyes, boys and girls can't be just friends, and she says it's too complicated with the difference in genitalia.

The truth is, I could never give him up. Not ever. He's saved me more times than I'd like to admit, and I owe him. I owe him everything. It's not that I don't find him attractive or haven't ever thought about what it might be like if we were together, it's just easier for us as friends. We set those boundaries a long time ago, and it could mess that up if things got romantic. I wouldn't trade our friendship for a one-night stand with him for anything. He's too important.

My mom takes my hateful comment with a grain of salt. She dismisses it and continues, "You need to get serious about your future, Alaina, and stop hiding behind your black clothes and silver hair dye because this isn't you."

I drop my fork against the dish with a clank, "How would you know? I bet you couldn't tell me three things I enjoy. All you see is what you wish you could've been. You need to stop trying to live vicariously through me. Not in my relationships and not through advanced Chem!"

Her eyes go wide, and I stand up, yanking my black and white checkered Vans backpack off the hardwood floor.

Madden pulls to the curb like clockwork when I bust out the front door. He just lives a few miles away and picks me up every day in his tiny black Honda Civic. I'm already sixteen, but I refuse to sit in a car with my parents long enough for them to teach me to drive. So there's yet another aspect of my life where Madden picks up the slack.

I slip inside, tossing his drumsticks out of my seat and into the back floorboard.

"I know that look," he says. "It's the—I might crash at your place for a few days—look."

I laugh, "Probably, as long as Grady doesn't have the futon this week."

"Nah," he laughs. "He's crashing at his new girl's house."

I smile. Madden's friend Grady is from his old school, before he secretly took the deal and moved to Legacy. He's a kickass guitar player. Actually, Grady and Madden can play just about anything, but watching Madden behind the drums is almost unearthly. No one is that good at sixteen.

They've been playing music together for years, and they mesh so well together. They're always looking for someone to join and play with them but can't ever find anyone as serious as they are.

"Is it your mom or dad?" he asks, shifting the car into drive.

"Mom thinks you are poisoning me with your rock music and lack of morals."

He laughs, "She's never even spoken to me."

"She doesn't need to, Mad. It's the tattoos and lip ring for her."

He pushes his hand back through his floppy black hair, "It's like the real housewives of Legacy High. Where husbands cheat, kids are bribed, everyone is blackmailed into silence, and gaslighting is the norm."

He makes me chuckle, "I love you. Can we stop at the gas station?"

He nods, "Yeah, since you love me, I guess so. I need cigarettes anyway."

I roll my eyes, "I don't know why you smoke them. It's a waste of money."

He grins, "Gotta piss your mom off somehow."

I roll my eyes and sling the door open, running into the gas station for a drink. Scanning the selection, I grab my favorite drink and Mad's too. The guy that owns this gas station is friends with Madden's cousin, so he buys cigarettes here no problem, and he looks old enough anyway.

We slip back into the car and are through the traffic into the Legacy parking lot ten minutes later. We pull up at the same time as Jovie, and she parks three spots down from Madden. I watch as Cori slips out of the passenger seat.

"Can you hurry up?" Jovie snaps, slinging her purse over her shoulder. "Things would be easier if you'd just drive."