We walked for maybe a good three blocks before I noticed the guy following us.

At first I just assumed he was walking in the same direction. But then we turned a corner, and sure enough, after a few not-so-subtle glances behind me, I confirmed: he was still there.

"Michael," I whispered, staring straight ahead as to not alert our stalker. "Michael!"

"What?" he huffed. "I'm very busy. My favorite steakhouse just got a bunch of new-"

"Shut up," I said, trying to force myself to walk as naturally as possible. "He's right behind- wait. Don't look now."

"You're talking about Rusty, aren't you?" He stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk and turned all the way around. "'Sup, Rusty?"

The man nodded silently in greeting and continued his menacing walk.

"You knew he was there?" I hissed. "And you didn't think to tell me?"

Even though it was only September, the night air was already chilly. That, combined with Rusty's presence and the fact that we were basically in some alleyway, made for a very unsettling atmosphere.

"Who is he anyway?" I asked Michael.

"I suppose an appropriate term could be 'backup'."

That disturbed me further, but I didn't get much time to ponder it. I suddenly became preoccupied with looking at the four guys leaning against the side of the building in front of us. One stood out in front, flanked by two others, each wearing dirty white tank tops and baggy jeans.

The one in front straightened up and lifted the large cowboy hat he wore to wipe his forehead of sweat. He was the only one to wear a cheap-looking gold chain around his neck.

"Thought you'd never make it, my friend," he said to Michael, in this really weird country accent. They both reached forward to engage in an intricate handshake.

I stood back, waiting until they were finished to speak. "So... you're Ralph?"

"Rolph," he corrected. "Howdy."

"Rolph, right-"

"So anyway," he interrupted, looping his arm around Michael's shoulder. "We gotta discuss plans, you and me. Got a location or what?"

Location for what? I thought. Committing a crime? I supposed maybe it would be fun to commit a crime. A minor one, of course. Nothing too intense. Maybe just, like, a quick vandalism.

Something touched the back of my neck and I fidgeted, ignoring it. Then I felt another touch to my scalp.

"The fuck?" I muttered as I turned around. Behind me was the third of Rolph's guys, largest of all. I could see the sweat-stained armpit of his t-shirt as he lifted his arm towards me.

"Try anything and Rusty over there will kill you with his bare hands," I told him. He chuckled and ran his grubby hand down the side of my neck, then back up to my ear to start the process all over again.

I looked at Rusty, wondering if he would be of any assistance. He was studying a long crack in the brick wall. The sweaty guy suddenly yanked my hair hard, as if he were attempting to uproot it. I stumbled forward, my vision spinning, and crashed into him.

"Buck, chill!" Rolph yelled. I felt "Buck" release his grip on me and wobbled back, still reeling from almost getting my scalp torn off. "He gets like that," Rolph explained with a shrug. "Can't tell why for shit. Like a dog, I tell ya. Savage, though. That's why I keep him around."

"So, like, if a rival gang came and tried to beat you up and steal your bag of drugs, Buck over there would rip them to shreds?" I asked.

Rolph narrowed his eyes at me. "We ain't no gang. This here is a cartel."

I laughed. He stared at me. "You can't be serious," I said. "A cartel? With... four people? I thought the whole drug lord thing was a joke. Since, you know, you work at Walmart and all."

"I like Walmart," he said.

"I like Walmart too, I just don't-"

"Oo-kay," Michael interrupted in a cheery voice. "Let's move on, shall we? Literally. Let's start moving."

Rolph turned and did some hand signal and in a fluent motion, everyone began walking. Everyone except me, of course. Michael grabbed my arm and dragged me along. "So," said Rolph, falling into step beside me. "My boy Mikey tells me you're interested in the trade."

"Yeah, don't turn my young, impressionable roommate into a drug dealer," Michael said. "Thanks."

"Hey, man, you're the manipulative one, not me," said Rolph.

"I don't manipulate any-"

"Real heartbreaker he is," Rolph said, patting my arm. "Makes all the ladies cry."

Michael sighed. "I don't try to break hearts, it just-"

"It just happens?" I guessed, looking down at my feet as I walked. Everything made sense. I bet he'd been overjoyed when he heard the news he would be housed with a freshman. Even more overjoyed when he saw me and decided he found me attractive. It all worked out perfectly too, because I turned out to be the most insecure, attention-starved, easily-won-over person alive.

Like winning the lottery.

"You're lucky you got Mikey here to take you under his wing," Rolph told me. "Stick with him, and you could get anything you want. Booze. Dope. The finest selection of puss-"

"I don't want that," I muttered.

"Whatcha want then?"

I didn't answer and instead walked up to Buck. Everyone deserved a second chance, right? "So," I said. "Ever killed anyone?"

He kept walking, seemingly oblivious to my existence. "They don' talk to people they don' like," Rolph said.

"Why don't they don't like me?" I muttered.

"Takes a while for 'em to accept ya. Not everybody cut out for this life. For the things we gotta do."

"What exactly do you do?" I asked.

"You know, party hard, live well, all that." He flashed me a huge toothy grin.

"Not everyone is cut out to go to parties?"

"You can't just show up. You gotta look like you got something to offer. You know, bring a couple grams and show 'em off. Then you watch. Slip somethin' in your pocket when no one's looking. Split as soon as you arrive. I don't be seeing you, you don't be seeing me. We seeing each other, we got a problem. We take what we find. Meds. Cash. Lots of old lady jewelry."

"You go to parties and rob them," I clarified. He nodded excitedly. "And you never get caught? Like on a security camera?"

"Nope. Never have, never will."

I wasn't so sure about that, but I didn't want to crush his dreams.

More importantly, I didn't want Buck to crush my windpipe.

╭-°—✞—˚✧❨✧˚—✞—°-╮

╰-°—✞—˚✧❨✧˚—✞—°-╯

We snuck up to the house like the FBI in a raid, which was actually kind of ironic. Michael shoved his way to the front of the pack to ring the doorbell.

It was a tall, wiry brunette with flushed rosy cheeks who answered the door. I also noticed she had a full sleeve of tattoos and more along her collarbone. She looked at us, one side of her top lip curling up slightly. "What do you think you're doing here, Michael?"

He shrugged and gestured toward the guys. "They got weed."

She blinked, and I imagined her weighing her options. Let the crazy people into my house and get high, or kick the crazy people out and don't get high. "Who's the kid?" she asked, her eyes running over me.

"I'm not a kid," I snapped before he could say anything. "And you're wasting our time. So you gonna let us in or not, bitch?"

"You should watch who you call a bitch, kid."

Michael leaned against the doorframe, smiling casually. "Look at it this way. We're kind of a packaged deal- me, him, them, the goods. Come on, Meg. I know you've been dying to see me..."

She narrowed her eyes a little. "Don't fuck up the place," she murmured, then stepped back. I glanced back to catch Rolph's expression. He had a sly smile on his face as he nodded politely to her in passing.

There was no music playing inside, no people dancing. A few sat around on couches, staring at literally nothing. Like, I bet I could wave my hand in front of their faces and they wouldn't even blink.

I watched Rolph as he weaved his way through some crazed people stumbling around, keeping his head low under the brim of his cowboy hat. The others had slunk off in different directions, a couple actually bumping into me to get by.

Where the fuck did Michael go?

I turned around in a slow circle, unable to spot him anywhere.

Shit.

I did my best not to panic and walked over to the girl that had answered the door. "Hey... Meg," I said with a forced smile. "We didn't really start off on the right-"

"What do you want?" she interrupted.

"Huh?"

"People only act nice when they want something," she said. "So what do you-"

"I don't want anything," I said.

She walked past me, and I hurried after her. "Leave me alone then," she said. "And tell Michael that just because he decided to let his little brother or whoever you are tag along doesn't mean I'm gonna get stuck babysitting you."

"Do I look like I need a babysitter?" I snapped.

She turned fully toward me. "You look like a five-year-old in a grocery store that ran away from his mom and then cried because he couldn't find her, so yeah."

I opened my mouth and then closed it stupidly.

She started walking again and I followed her to where a tall guy with a black beanie stood in front of a table, sort of like a concession stand. He had his station all set up: a lighter, these thin little papers, and a bowl of ground-up marijuana. The front of his beanie had a huge white skull on it. Thus, I named him Skull Hat.

"Roll me a joint," Meg said. She glanced at me. "You smoke, right?"

"Yeah." It wasn't a total lie, I thought. I'd smoked cigarettes. These things couldn't be that much different.

While Skull Hat got to work I leaned closer to Meg. "I really look like a five-year-old?" I asked.

"Sure act like one."

I watched Skull Hat run his tongue over the joint, thinking that I wouldn't want to put my mouth on something he'd just licked. He held it up, the thin end facing himself. It wasn't packed very tightly. Some of it looked about ready to fall out.

Meg took the lighter and ran the flame over the edge until it burned. She raised the joint to her lips and inhaled deeply, blowing smoke into the air, then passed it to me.

Smoking weed sort of tasted like breathing in a plant. Which, I guess, made sense. It wasn't bad at first. But then I started coughing. Every time I would gulp in some air it would just make my throat dryer and I would cough harder. Meg just stood there and stared at me until Skull Hat walked around the table and took the joint away from me.

I covered my mouth with my arm and backed a few feet away, trying to catch my breath before people started staring. "I think I- excuse me," I choked out, trying to inhale properly. Meg cackled.

I wandered down the hallway, my breathing slowing gradually, until I found the bathroom. The door was ajar and I could see a man inside. As I cracked it open further, I spotted a familiar cowboy hat.

"Rolph, what are you doing?" I groaned. "I have to use-"

"Shh," he whispered. He had the cabinet behind the mirror open and was searching through numerous bottles of pills. "I'm working."

I raised my arm and coughed into my elbow. "I feel kinda sick. So... can you leave?"

"What'd ya take, man?" he asked.

"I didn't... okay, I tried smoking this joint, but, like, I'm not used to inhaling and-" I broke off coughing again.

"Gotta be careful with weed. Can be folks think they're buyin' it and turns out it's that fake spice shit or somethin'. Seen a guy rollin' around the ground, seizing, arms and legs going everywhere..." He shook his head sadly.

I swallowed hard. "Where was that?"

"My place," he said. "After I sold it to him."

"Oh god."

He dumped one of the orange pill bottles out onto the counter. "Want one of these?" he offered.

I squinted and walked over. "What is it?"

He shrugged. "Somethin' for old people. A lot of this shit is for old people. I was hoping for painkillers. Last time I was in an old person's house it was oxy central. This is heartburn or somethin'."

I picked up one of the pills, studied it for a second, then put it in my mouth.

"Side effects include headache, dizziness, stomachache, rashes, diarrhea, constipation, and oh, my personal favorite. Death."

"Great," I muttered, already walking around him. "Well, have a great night, Rolph."

"You too, man."

I opened the door and peered out, looking both ways to make sure I wouldn't run into any zombie people. The coast appeared clear, so I crept out and walked back down to the living room. From there, you could go to the left into what looked like a kitchen, or right to the stairs.

The couch was empty, except for the last cushion, which was occupied by a guy with a fuzzy red beard. I was making my way over to sit down when I felt someone's arms wrap around me from behind and pull me into a tight hug.

"Hello, Benjamin."

"I was looking for you," I said, not even turning around.

"I was looking for you," Michael said.

He sank onto the couch, and consequently I tumbled down with him. I giggled and wormed closer, laying my head on his shoulder. "Well you just, like, disappeared and I didn't... I didn't know where you went."

He tilted his head and looked at me. "Are you high?"

I blinked slowly and gave an exaggerated shrug, smiling. "I don't know. Am I?"

"Do you feel high?" he asked.

"I don't know what that feels like."

He sighed and then looked up again as Meg walked by, his whole face alert like a wolf that had just gotten a whiff of prey. She'd changed her outfit. Now it was a tight black dress with little ruffles on the side. I wondered if she'd put it on specifically because she knew he was in the house now.

"Hey, Blondie," she said.

He smirked. "Hey."

She was carrying a red solo cup in each hand, one of which she held out to give him. He started to lean over but I reached up first, snatching the cup and pressing it to my lips.

"Thanks, Meg," I said, in the pettiest, fakest voice I'd heard Sarah adopt when talking to other girls. I tipped my head back and drank whatever it was, immediately wincing. "That's disgusting," I muttered before throwing the empty cup on the floor.

"Alcohol never tastes good," Michael said. "It's after you drink it that's good."

Meg was staring at me. "Are you gonna pick that up?"

"No," I said.

"Pick it up," she ordered.

"You pick it up," I said. I smiled a little and touched the tip of my tongue to my teeth. "Bitch."

I saw her whole form quiver in pure rage. "Michael," she said, her voice deadly cool. "Would you mind telling me who this asshole is so that I know his name when I punch his fucking teeth out?"

"His name is Ben. Dover. Dalton. Sorry." He grinned.

I glanced at him. "You remember my last name?"

"I have an excellent memory," he said. "I can remember the smallest detail from months ago. Years even. Like the time Meg threw a fit because a super, incredibly idiotic drunk guy spilled a drink on this very couch." He smiled. "Then they ended up dating for five months, remember that?"

"Yeah, and I remember hating you - I mean him - pretty much every single one of those months." She sighed and took a deep breath, kicking the cup forward. "Look. There's two rules of being in this house. Don't make a mess and don't disrespect me. And Ben here has broken both."

"Alright," he said. "Benjamin, why don't you tell the lady you're sorry and we'll all get on with our night, hmm?"

I turned and regarded her nonchalantly. "Sorry."

She narrowed her eyes. "You're still gonna have to pick-"

She was cut off as a random girl suddenly stumbled into her, wrapping both arms around her waist in an attempt to stay upright. "Meg, Meg, Meg," the girl mumbled. "Where did you goooo?"

"Boys, this is Violet," Meg said as she attempted to disentangle herself. "Be nice." Violet had shiny purple lips that matched her shiny face and big messy space buns. She was wearing a band tee and black miniskirt with ripped fishnets. One of her Vans was missing from her feet.

"Does 'be nice' mean I'm supposed to say she's pretty?" Michael said, like the subject of his question wasn't two feet away.

"I think you're pretty, Violet," I said. "A lot prettier than Meg."

"I actually think Meg is prettier," Michael said.

"You know, this whole conversation has a very objectifying vibe," Meg commented.

"I never said I was pretty," Violet said. "But I do think I have a nice rack." Michael's gaze lowered immediately.

"Okay, Violet, now you're just objectifying yourself," Meg said. "And for who? Guys like this? Who would literally drug your drink and-"

"Hey, hey," Michael interrupted. "You know I would never drug someone's drink, you can't just go and say that."

Meg turned her eyes on me. I sat still, zoned out for a good five seconds before I realized I had to respond. "Yeah, I, uh... I've never drugged anyone," I mumbled.

"That wasn't very convinc-"

"Can we get past this, for fuck's sake?" Michael snapped, pushing me aside so he could stand up. "This is supposed to be a party, why are we talking about drugging people? Let's play some games or something. Jesus."

"What do you want to play, Michael? Scrabble?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of strip poker," he said.

"Strip poker?" she said, raising both eyebrows.

"I'm in a stripping mood," he smiled. He jumped on his toes and turned to the couch across the room, piled with zombie people, cupping his hands around his mouth. "Attention! Strip poker is happening now, I repeat, stip poker now. Do NOT try to join late."

The guy with the fuzzy beard looked over. "Shut up. I'm tryna watch TV."

"Wanna strip with us?" asked Michael.

He shook his head and gripped his stomach. "Too much gut."

"Okay, then, just the hotties." He looked at Violet while Meg walked away. "Well, and you."

She frowned and looked down. I felt sort of bad. I really didn't think she was that ugly. Like, she wasn't stunning, but there wasn't really anything bad-looking about her. And she seemed nice, which in my opinion, trumped looks every time.

For the record, I didn't think Meg was ugly either. I just hated her for some reason I didn't even know.

Meg returned with Skull Hat in tow. "If anyone's stripping, I knew this pervert would wanna come," she said, elbowing him. He grinned with a full set of yellow teeth.

The five of us waded through the cluster of zombies that had gathered in the kitchen to grab more drinks, then headed to the staircase. Michael was still advertising the game to random people and I seriously felt like punching him.

"Um, I'll join," a soft female voice behind me said. I turned, one foot on the first step of the stairs, then widened my eyes as I recognized the short blonde.

"Wait... Amy?" I practically shouted.

"Hi," she said, smiling sweetly.

"What are you doing here?" I asked. "Oh my god, Sarah literally hates me now because of you. Is it true you told your friends they had to, like, fuck fifty people or something?"

She smirked. "No... that was my... evil twin."

"Oh."

"Yeah, her name's... Lame-y. She's trying to ruin my name." She flipped her flowy hair over one shoulder.

I giggled again. Everything seemed funny now. And Amy talking about Lame-y seemed really, really funny to me.