trills, and Mina picks it up, turning the alarm off . “Pill
time?”
“Yeah. Hand me my case?”
She grabs it from my purse, but doesn’t give it to me. She looks at
me out of the corner of her eye, turning the case over and over, the
pills clacking together inside.
“What?” I ask.
“Sophie.” That’s all she says. One word but she can infuse it with
such frustration, such worry.
We are experts in each other. It’s one of the reasons I’ve been
dodging the inevitable confrontation, because if she asks me outright,
she’ll know my answer’s a lie.
“I’m fi ne,” I say, with as much truth as I can muster. “I just need
my pills.” My skin crawls under her scrutiny. I’m sure she can look
right through me, see the drugs fl oating through my system.
I focus on the road.
She tilts the case back and forth in her hand. “I didn’t realize they
still had you on so many.”
“Yeah, well, they do.” It’s like I’m on the edge of a cliff that’s crum-
bling, the ground beneath my feet breaking free, slipping from me. I
keep glancing at the case in her hand. She’s not handing it over.
What am I going to do if she doesn’t?
“Maybe you should think about getting off them. Do a tapering
thing or something. It’s been forever, and that stuff isn’t good for you.”
“I think my doctors would probably disagree.” I can’t keep the
edge out of my voice, the warning. Won’t she just drop it already?
But she won’t. She hears the warning and breezes past it, because
that’s the way Mina is.
T E S S S H A R P E
109
“Seriously, Soph. You’ve been acting like . . .” She huff s out a
breath. She won’t say it out loud. She’s afraid to. “I’m worried about
you. And you won’t talk to me.”
“It’s nothing you’d understand.” She can’t. She came out of the
accident with a broken arm and a few bruises. I’d come out with metal
for bones and a dependence on pain pills that had morphed into a
hunger I couldn’t—didn’t want to—ignore.
“Why don’t you try explaining it to me, then?”
“No,” I say. “Mina, drop it. Okay? Just give me my pills. The rest
stop’s coming up.”
She chews on her lip. “Fine.” She tosses the case into my lap and
folds her arms, staring out the window at the rows of bare trees that
blur by faster as I press hard on the gas.
We drive the rest of the way in silence.
The party Trev takes us to later that night is crowded. The apartment’s
too warm with bodies, the smell of beer mealy in the air. I lost Mina in
the crowd about twenty minutes in, but we’d barely spoken since we
argued in the car, so it doesn’t really matter.
That’s what I keep telling myself.
The music’s awful, some top-forty hit blasting so loud it makes my
head ache. I want nothing more than to get out of here, walk to Trev’s
apartment, lie down on his couch, close my eyes, and fade out for a
few hours.
I weave my way through the crowd, narrowly avoiding an ass grab
by some frat boy wearing his baseball cap turned sideways. I sidestep
him and slip out onto the empty balcony. Fishing a few pills out of my
pocket, I down them with what’s left of my vodka.
It’s cold outside, but quieter, with the rumble of the crowd and
110
F A R F R O M Y O U
the thump of the music muffl
ed. Buzzed from the vodka, I press my
elbows against the railing, waiting for the foggy feeling of the high to
smooth all the sharp edges away.
The balcony door opens and closes. “There you are,” Trev says.
“Mina’s looking for you.”
“It’s nice out here,” I say.
Trev walks up next to me and leans against the railing. “It’s freez-
ing.” Taking off his coat, he drapes it over my shoulders. The smell of
pine and wood glue curls around me.
“Thanks,” I say, but I don’t gather the edges of his coat against me.
I can’t envelop myself in him like I am in her.
“You two fi ghting?” Trev asks.
“A
time?”
“Yeah. Hand me my case?”
She grabs it from my purse, but doesn’t give it to me. She looks at
me out of the corner of her eye, turning the case over and over, the
pills clacking together inside.
“What?” I ask.
“Sophie.” That’s all she says. One word but she can infuse it with
such frustration, such worry.
We are experts in each other. It’s one of the reasons I’ve been
dodging the inevitable confrontation, because if she asks me outright,
she’ll know my answer’s a lie.
“I’m fi ne,” I say, with as much truth as I can muster. “I just need
my pills.” My skin crawls under her scrutiny. I’m sure she can look
right through me, see the drugs fl oating through my system.
I focus on the road.
She tilts the case back and forth in her hand. “I didn’t realize they
still had you on so many.”
“Yeah, well, they do.” It’s like I’m on the edge of a cliff that’s crum-
bling, the ground beneath my feet breaking free, slipping from me. I
keep glancing at the case in her hand. She’s not handing it over.
What am I going to do if she doesn’t?
“Maybe you should think about getting off them. Do a tapering
thing or something. It’s been forever, and that stuff isn’t good for you.”
“I think my doctors would probably disagree.” I can’t keep the
edge out of my voice, the warning. Won’t she just drop it already?
But she won’t. She hears the warning and breezes past it, because
that’s the way Mina is.
T E S S S H A R P E
109
“Seriously, Soph. You’ve been acting like . . .” She huff s out a
breath. She won’t say it out loud. She’s afraid to. “I’m worried about
you. And you won’t talk to me.”
“It’s nothing you’d understand.” She can’t. She came out of the
accident with a broken arm and a few bruises. I’d come out with metal
for bones and a dependence on pain pills that had morphed into a
hunger I couldn’t—didn’t want to—ignore.
“Why don’t you try explaining it to me, then?”
“No,” I say. “Mina, drop it. Okay? Just give me my pills. The rest
stop’s coming up.”
She chews on her lip. “Fine.” She tosses the case into my lap and
folds her arms, staring out the window at the rows of bare trees that
blur by faster as I press hard on the gas.
We drive the rest of the way in silence.
The party Trev takes us to later that night is crowded. The apartment’s
too warm with bodies, the smell of beer mealy in the air. I lost Mina in
the crowd about twenty minutes in, but we’d barely spoken since we
argued in the car, so it doesn’t really matter.
That’s what I keep telling myself.
The music’s awful, some top-forty hit blasting so loud it makes my
head ache. I want nothing more than to get out of here, walk to Trev’s
apartment, lie down on his couch, close my eyes, and fade out for a
few hours.
I weave my way through the crowd, narrowly avoiding an ass grab
by some frat boy wearing his baseball cap turned sideways. I sidestep
him and slip out onto the empty balcony. Fishing a few pills out of my
pocket, I down them with what’s left of my vodka.
It’s cold outside, but quieter, with the rumble of the crowd and
110
F A R F R O M Y O U
the thump of the music muffl
ed. Buzzed from the vodka, I press my
elbows against the railing, waiting for the foggy feeling of the high to
smooth all the sharp edges away.
The balcony door opens and closes. “There you are,” Trev says.
“Mina’s looking for you.”
“It’s nice out here,” I say.
Trev walks up next to me and leans against the railing. “It’s freez-
ing.” Taking off his coat, he drapes it over my shoulders. The smell of
pine and wood glue curls around me.
“Thanks,” I say, but I don’t gather the edges of his coat against me.
I can’t envelop myself in him like I am in her.
“You two fi ghting?” Trev asks.
“A
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