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was smarter than all the other boys I met on campus. We first tried crystal to help us during a late-night cram session, studying for a Poly-Sci exam, and then the next thing you know..."
    "It happens to the best of us," said the Boy. He watched her work the shit, the student ID chop and slide, slide and chop until four skinny lines snaked across the CD case. She offered him the first one, then took hers.
    They got to talking.
    "So he starts dealing," she said. "He swore it would only be for a little bit, to get us over a hump, but one thing Sam Tuley ain't all about are promises . It's good stuff though, ain't it? Real clean, not like the bathtub stuff you usually find out here in East Texas. So you go to Stephen F. also? I haven't been making it to class lately. I was Dean's List for the first three semesters, but not this year. Next semester will be totally different. God, I need to get things back on track. It seems like when we're doing all this damned crystal, things are much clearer than they ever were, but at the same time, it comes at you so fast..."
    He smiled. "And then when you come down, it ain't no picnic."
    "We won't have to worry about that tonight, partner." She stood up and walked into the bedroom. He heard her shuffle around a bit, then she walked back into the living room with two large baggies of snow-white powder. "Sam's buddy hides this shit over here when they're making a run."
    The Boy tensed a little. "And they aren't coming home? With all that shit in the apartment?"
    "Relax," she cooed. She sat so their legs touched, snaked an arm through his, set the baggies down on the coffee table. "They're on the run and he's pissed off at me. Trust me, as much as this is, they probably have another baggie this size or bigger. Last I heard , they had to drive clear out to Longview to move some of this shit to some rednecks. They won't be coming home tonight."
    "He's that deep into it, huh?"
    "Lately, he is." She rubbed at her nose and the shit drained down the back of her throat. "At first it was fun. We made enough money to pay for what we put in our faces. People calling, knocking on the door all hours. People in and out of here and trust me, tweakers never know when to go home. Soon, they quit dropping by. Just one guy, JoJo, coming in and out. And JoJo and Sam would go on long drives and Sam would hide these big bags in here, then be gone."
    "How come you don't leave him?" asked the Boy.
    Before she answered, she took in his impossibly blue eyes, let herself be hypnotized. "I don't want to leave him. Not most the time anyway. I want him to quit treating me like shit. I want him to quit thinking I'm lying all the time. To always think I'm cheating on him."
    The Boy laughed. "Why would he think that?"
    "Don't get me wrong, I'm not a cheater." She leaned and kissed him full on the mouth. "But right now, me and him are broken up. And he needs to learn to respect this. I'm always getting accused of cheating on him. Him screaming and throwing things and calling me names in front of everyone. So if I'm going to do the time, I sure as hell want to do the crime."
    So she did and a half-hour later, they scrounged up their clothes scattered about the living room floor, did the other two lines, and she immediately began to regret it. She'd punched Sam in the face, keyed his car, once called the cops when he got a little rough, and set his schoolbooks on fire. She'd never fucked another dude and couldn't help but feel a line had been crossed. Her mind raced. Could she repair this? Could she make it go away?
    Still, she talked: "It's the drugs. That's why he is like he is. Not just the meth, either. He gets so riled up on crystal that he needs a Rufie or a Xanax to get any sleep. You think that don't have side effects?" She held up her pointer finger, then let the finger droop. "He cries in his sleep. I wake up sometimes and he's just sobbing and carrying on and I massage him and stroke him and then in the morning, he