As if my day didn’t suck enough, my phone rang as I walked in the door of my apartment. I answered it, hearing my brother’s enthusiastic voice on the other end.

“I’m applying to an art school in Philadelphia,” Landon said excitedly. I barely heard him. I was searching through my drawer for the baggie I had put there the other night. Finally finding it, I shook out the pills I wanted.

Before I could take them, I registered what my brother had just said.

“You’re what?” I asked, knowing that I should be more supportive, that I should be excited for him. But all I heard was the sound of more money. More money I would need in order to take care of him.

The noose around my neck tightened.

“Uh, yeah. My guidance counselor says I have a good shot at getting in. She wrote me a letter of recommendation. My SAT and ACT scores are really good, Maxx,” Landon rambled on.

“How much does the school cost?” I asked, bursting Landon’s bubble.

Landon was quiet for a while before answering. “I can get scholarships, Maxx. I can get a job. I’ll make it work. You don’t have to help me,” he said, with more defensiveness than I had ever heard from him.

“You know I’ll always help you out, Landon. I just wanted to know,” I explained, and it was true. Even if it meant selling my f**king kidneys on eBay, Landon would go to school. Even if I had to drop out myself and become the biggest drug dealer on the East Coast, my baby brother would have his future.

“I don’t want you to think you have to do anything, Maxx. I know you have it in your head that you need to take care of me. But I’m almost an adult. I’m not helpless. I can do this stuff on my own, you know,” he told me firmly.

I never gave my brother enough credit for the man he was becoming. He was a fighter. He was a survivor. Just like me.

“Just let me worry about paying for it. You worry about getting your ass accepted,” I said lightly, not admitting to the full-out panic the idea created.

Then we ended our conversation and I swallowed the pills.

And when I felt mellow enough to handle what needed to be done, I did the only thing I could think to do.

I called Gash.

“I’m glad you called, X,” Gash said, sitting in his spot behind his desk.

I propped my ankle over my knee and leaned back in the chair as though I didn’t have a care in the world. Too bad I had way too much to care about. My life was one big, never-ending pile of f**king worry.

“I told you a few weeks back that I was expecting a shipment from Mexico. It just came in. This is grade-A shit, X. We’re going to make a killing.” Gash pulled three freezer bags out of his drawer and dropped them on his desk.

I picked one up and opened it, finding it filled with smaller baggies containing a fine, whitish-brown powder.

I looked up at my boss. “What is it?” I asked, sounding stupid. I knew what it was, I just wanted the confirmation.

Gash grinned. “Some of the best Black Pearl I have ever seen.”

Shit, Gash was peddling heroin now.

Okay, so I was being a massive hypocrite, but I had my standards. Selling pills was one thing, but slinging f**king heroin was something else entirely. If I made that leap, I wasn’t sure I could ever forgive myself.

There was something about the way heroin was taken. Snorted or injected. Needles gave me the heebie-jeebies, and snorting anything up your nose seemed like plain old stupid.

“I don’t know, man,” I said slowly, trying to think of an excuse so I wouldn’t have to sell that stuff.

Gash frowned, obviously not liking my less-than-enthusiastic response.

“Do you understand how much money this could make me? Could make you? Are you a f**king moron?” he asked incredulously, looking at me as though I had been offered the Holy Grail and was turning it down.

“It’s heroin, Gash. That shit is a bit too hard-core for me,” I said lamely, knowing that I sounded like a complete pu**y.

Gash leaned back in his chair and let out a loud laugh. He gripped his beer belly as though he feared splitting his gut. “Are you kidding me? A drug dealer with a conscience? Give me a break!” he wheezed between guffaws.

Fuck him!

I got to my feet. “Look, I’m not going to sell that shit. Find someone else,” I said, heading to the door.

“I’d rethink that if I were you,” Gash called out before I could leave.

I froze. His words were a threat.

“I know what you and Marco have been doing. You think I wouldn’t notice the door coming up short almost every single weekend? I’ve been in this game longer than you’ve been alive, X.”

I closed the door and sat back down. This ass**le had me exactly where he wanted me.

“And I know you’ve got some sticky fingers when it comes to my drugs. But you’ve made the money, so I haven’t begrudged you your fix. As long as it doesn’t impact my business, I don’t have a problem. But don’t confuse my silence with ignorance. You have your uses, X. Just as Marco does. And you’re going to sell my shit. And you’re going to sell all of it.” Gash wasn’t open to an argument. He wouldn’t take no for an answer.

I was stuck.

I needed the money.

I needed my drugs.

I needed each of those things more than I needed my self-respect.

And Gash was the one pulling all my strings.

I picked up the freezer bags and put them in my book bag.

“How long do I have?” I asked, my acquiescence making Gash very pleased with himself.