STRUNG OUT

SEPTEMBER 1ST 2004 AOIFE

JOEY DIDN’T FOLLOW me into class.

In fact, he didn’t show up until the class before big lunch.

“What the hell, asshole?” I whisper-hissed when he sank into the chair alongside mine during Business. “Where have you been?”

“I had to go home,” he explained quietly, as he withdrew his textbook and pencil case from his bag. “I, uh…”

“You what?” I asked, waiting for his answer.

Jerking, he shook his head, and mashed a hand against his cheek. “Must be out of credit.”

Suspicious, I narrowed my eyes. “Are you high?” “No.”

“Joey.”

“No.”

“Don’t lie.”

“I’m not.”

“Then what’s up?” “Nothing.”

“You look like you’ve been crying?” I whispered, as concern rose inside of me at a rapid pace.

His nose was red, his eyes were bloodshot and watering.

“I don’t cry.” Joey released a shaky breath and retrieved a wad of tissue from his pocket. “I’m just…” He completely spaced out for several long beats before adding, “coming down with something.”

“Oh my god, Joe, you’re bleeding,” I strangled out, when the white tissue he used to dab his nose came back a crimson red. “Your nose is bleeding.”

“I am?” He stared down at the blood-stained tissue in an almost trancelike motion. Blood continued to trickle down his face, but he made no move to intervene. “Ah shit.”

“Joey,” I snapped, grabbing the tissue from his hand and pressing it to his nose. “What did you do?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” With one hand cupping the back of his head, I used the other to hold the tissue to his face. “Bullshit. What did he give you?”

“Nothing,” he whispered, hands falling limply to his sides, as he watched me watch him. “It’s all good, Molloy.”

“Don’t lie to me,” I warned. “You’re completely strung out.”

“I’m not lying.” My heart plummeted out of my ass and on to the floor, where he then kicked it by saying, “I swear.”

“You’re such a liar.”

Furious, I quickly pulled him to his feet, and reeled off some spiel to the teacher before ushering him out of the classroom, ignoring the stares and whispers as we went.

“Is Joey alright there, Aoife?” our teacher, Mr. Brolly, called out the classroom door after us.

“Yeah, yeah, sir, he’s grand. It’s just a nosebleed. Will you ask Casey to pack up our bags for us,” I called back, keeping him welded to my side, as I walked him out of school and over to where I had parked my car.

“Don’t hate me, Molloy,” Joey mumbled, falling into the passenger seat the minute I let him go to open the car door. “You’re all I have to wake up

for in the morning.”