The girl sat staring, her steel gray eyes unblinking and her face tight with anticipation. She knew what was coming. The moment she stood up, or even moved a muscle, the familiar feeling would overcome her frail body. She reached out and took the white object that she recognized far too well. She brought it to her lips, and inhaled the smoke deep into her lungs. Once, twice, three times more she did this, then, holding the smoke, she nodded her head in the direction of the others. Still holding the smoke, she passed the joint on. Soon though, she started to cough. The smoke came from her mouth in a cloud, hovering like a fog in front of her face. The girl giggled, and tried to suck the smoke back deep inside her lungs, unsuccessfully of course. Still she sat, not moving as much as possible. She knew the feeling that would overcome her when she did. It wasn't as if it would be a new feeling, or even an exciting one. It was routine, like putting on your socks. She didn't do it for the fun, the excitement anymore. She did it for the security. The escape from the world far too real, far too real to even want to comprehend. She knew it wasn't a healthy thing to do. But she had to. It was her escape.

It hadn't started out that way, she thought. So many people think it's all because of peer pressure. She had gotten into many arguments over that in the past few months. Some even thought that it was because of her parent's divorce. That she wanted to get back at them. It wasn't that either, she knew. She'd started smoking up long before her parents' divorce. It hadn't been peer pressure either. She had been curious. What was it like to be high? Did you actually feel like you were flying? Was it like smoking cigarettes? So she had gone out and bought some. $10 for a fun time the dealer had said. And she rolled it. A crappy rolling job, really, but what can you honestly expect from a first time toker?

So she had walked out behind her house, to the forest. She had sat down on a rock, casually as though she was just resting from a long hike. She lit it. The girl inhaled, tasting the unfamiliar taste in her mouth. It was unlike anything she had ever tried. Sweet, yet lingering and smooth. She took another long drag. And soon came the now familiar feeling. It was invincibility, freedom, all around well being, happiness. Now, with her friends, all that the girl could do was giggle. Nothing was going to hurt her, for she was safe within her own world. But unlike the uneducated ( in the world of drugs) would like to think, colors did not swirl, inanimate objects did not appear alive, nor did voices talk from the shadows. All that there was comfort. The girl stood, swaying slightly, for she felt that she was 10 feet tall. This is how it should be thought the girl to herself. No parents, no school, no worries.

At her desk, the girl sat. She listened as the teacher talked of the dangers of drugs. About how marijuana is a gateway drug. To herself, the girl laughed. In her opinion, the people who thought this stuff up had never done drugs in their lives. Why should they know? What reason would they have to even want to know? The girl sank lower in her chair, almost asleep while the teacher talked about chemical-drugs the girl would never touch. I'll never do chemicals the girl had told herself many times. They ruin your life. LSD and PCP are real killers, the teacher was saying. Accidental overdoses aren't uncommon. They can be slipped into your drink without you knowing, causing you to OD. But the girl heard none of this, for she was fast asleep at her desk. Burnt out, some would say. Overtired. That was the girl's name for it.

The music blared loudly, but the girl wasn't paying attention. She was rolling her precious escape. She was good at this now. Never shaking and always making a perfect end. It was hers, all hers. It took more now then it had in the beginning. A week's worth allowance was barely enough for even a slight buzz. But she never took so much that she couldn't control her surroundings. If control was the word. The girl stood, took hold of her freedom and took one more sip of her Pepsi. She never drank --alcohol -- when she smoked up. It was too dangerous; she had decided that a long time ago. Setting her drink on the coffee table, she went outside.

While the music blared, an unseen hand dripped the clear liquid in random glasses. Casual, like always, not drawing attention to itself. This will lighten this party up, thought the person. Nothing like a little acid to get a party going.

The girl was hunched over the front steps of the house, inhaling her rolled escape. It wasn't like usual though. She hadn't bought from her usual supplier. He was on vacation. This was from a friend of a friend of a friend. Standing up, she shivered. It wasn't a very warm night. She went inside, where the music was turned up as loud as possible. Knowing she had left her drink on the coffee table, she headed for the living room. The girl glanced at the table. There were three glasses sitting there, all identical to her own. One glass was hers, she knew, but which one was totally different. So she picked up one of the glasses. Sniffed it. There was some alcohol in it. She was sure. The girl put it down and picked up another. This one didn't have a smell, not of alcohol. She stuck a finger in the glass, pulled it out and licked the liquid from her finger. It didn't taste like alcohol, so she thought it must be hers. Just to double check though, she tested the other one. This one had a definite alcohol odor to it. The second one is mine, the girl decided silently. Good old Pepsi. Carrying her drink, she sipped it and wandered from group to group. Mindless chitchat, gossip that entertained the listeners, that's all it was. So the girl sipped her drink more. Something wasn't right, she could feel it. The drink didn't have alcohol in it, she had tasted it. Must be this pot, the girl thought to herself. I'm not buying from him again. The girl closed her eyes for second, and then opened them again. She looked at the boy beside her. Noticed his hands. They were slowly turning into snakes, right before her eyes. Disgusted, the girl looked away. She hated snakes.

Why didn't she feel calm? Relaxed and confident? Why was she not escaping? She felt trapped, confined. Everyone was looking at her, laughing and pointing. The boy with the snake fingers was trying to pet her arm. The girl was shaking her arm now, telling the boy to get away, to keep the snakes off of her. Then she looked more closely at her arm. To her horror, spiders were emerging from her fingernails and crawling toward her face. The girl screamed. And people really did look. She was on the floor now, kicking and yelling. All she could feel were little tiny spiders crawling all over her body. There were colors. Bright, brilliant colors that words could not begin to describe. Rain was falling from the ceiling, but was not washing the spiders from the girl. The girl screamed louder, and the walls vibrated then echoed her scream in thousands of voices. The girl put her hands to her ears to block out the noise. I'm quitting drugs for good, the girl thought to herself. The floor was hard, as was the girl's head. The girl looked above her, where what seemed like millions of rainbow colored fireflies hovered above her. The girl threw her head back in an attempt to avoid them. All went black.

Somewhere, a baby cried. The girl opened her eyes. All that she could see was a bright light. She shut her eyes, it was hurting them, the light was. Far off, she thought she heard her mother's voice. And then her father's. I'm in heaven, the girl decided. Either that or Hell. There's no where else in the entire universe that my parents would be together. The voices around her informed her that she was coming around. And because of that information, the girl opened her eyes once again. It wasn't heaven, or hell for that matter. It was a hospital, she realized, Slowly, like a mystery about to unfold, the party came back to her. The drink, the drugs. Everything but her vow to herself. But then, like after thought, it came. How long had I been out? What had happened? I will quit, said the girl inside her head. I have my whole life ahead of me, why quit living now? Closing her eyes once again, the girl fell back asleep.

She was back at school again. The girl pushed the starchy cleanliness of the hospital from her mind. She had pushed everything from her mind, in fact. The room buzzed, the long time familiar sound of temporary freedom. Chairs scraped the tile floor, and people were getting up and gathering their books together. Once outside, school far behind her, the girl walked to the corner of Mainline and Eversonal. The familiar face stood waiting. Almost routinely, the girl pulled $40 from her pocket. In exchange for the money she got a tiny zip-lock baggie. Putting it in her pocket quickly, she turned around to leave. There was no time for small talk in the drug world. You couldn't trust anybody. Not after what had happened at the party. She hadn't pushed what had happened at the party from her mind, just her oath to herself. She just didn't take drugs from people she didn't know, didn't trust.

She'd been the talk of the school for a while. When she walked down the hallways, people would stare and whisper. That's the girl who went crazy they would think. It was hard, facing all those stares, but the girl could handle it. She just wasn't used to all the attention. Any attention, really. Wallflowers don't talk, they are just there to be looked at. It all stopped for a while. There was the one girl who came up to the girl, however. Asked how she liked her acid. Paper? Or drowned? The girl shook her head. She didn't do chemicals. Chemicals ruined you. Caused brain damage. So the girl ignored it. She ignored everything. She didn't really have a choice, a chance. That's why she had gone back on her oath. To escape. Escape the painful stares, the questioning accusing curious eyes. She liked to be an outsider looking in. Not someone trapped on the inside wanting nothing more than to get out. At first it worked, her escape. But then everything started to fall apart. The acid pushers would not quit. The girl was worried. She felt like a bug on a slide, exposed for all to see. Why won't they leave me alone? she would silently cry within herself. She had learned long ago that you don't let the bad things in. That you had to be tough. Why else would she have become a chronic throughout her parent's divorce? And then they cornered her. Stopped her in the hallway. She ignored them, kept on walking toward her house. She could hear their footsteps, keeping time with hers. Just before she reached her house, the acid pushers quickened their stride, got ahead of her. The girl tried to push past them, but it was a lost cause. Then, one of the pushers handed her a little foil-wrapped object. Thrust it into her hand. Manually closed her fingers around it. You'll thank me later, he whispered in her ear. His breath was warm and moist on the side of her face. Pulling her hand away, the object within her closed fingers, she turned into her driveway. Once inside her house, she opened her fingers. Gingerly, she unfolded the foil wrapping. Inside lay two pieces of paper. They weren't even a centimeter square. Disgusted, the girl wrapped up the paper in the foil and tossed it in her purse. I'll give it back tomorrow, the girl thought. I'll slip it back into their bag. Acid pushers. Then the girl got $20 out of her secret hiding spot for drug money. Put on her coat and shoes. Left her house, walked to the corner of Mainline and Eversonal. The all too familiar corner. He was there, expecting her. She put her hand in her pocket. She walked up to him, and only muttered the words only twenty. He nodded, and reached inside his brown jacket. Pulled out a small zip-lock baggie. With slow smooth movements, he placed it in her hand, not drawing any attention to either of them.

In the distance, a siren wailed. The girl looked up, at him. They both knew what that meant. So, they quickly finished the exchange and parted their ways. But not soon enough. The police car was just advancing upon them then. A panicked look entered the girl's eyes. She did not deal well with authority. She took off running, which only arose suspicion in the police man's mind. The car pulled over with a sudden movement. The dealer took off in the opposite direction to which the girl had taken. The cop quickly decided that it would be easier to follow the girl. Women are slower, not as much stamina, he rationalized. Over a fence, and down and up a small ditch the girl flew. She knew he was chasing her. She couldn't see him, but she could hear his footsteps behind her. It was as if a beat, a fast hard bouncing beat, was pounding in her head. She kept her feet going to this beat. It was the only thing that kept her going at a high speed. If she stopped, she would be, and that wouldn't be good. She knew this, just like every child knows that if that they do something wrong they will get in trouble. Her parents, though she knew they really didn't care that much, would be disappointed. Maybe not in her, they didn't really care about her. But they cared about other people's opinions of their life. Imagine, the successful lawyer's daughter, arrested. That would be bad for publicity. Heaven forbid that. Then an idea popped into her head. Why bother trying to get back at her parents for ruining her life by ruining her life further? If she got in trouble, then they would maybe finally realize. She wasn't them. She didn't want to be them. So, she faked a fall. She rolled into the ground, made it look like a trip. That's what it was supposed to be. But something went wrong. She twisted her ankle, and fell onto the ground. She hit her head on a rock. Once again, but for a different reason this time, all went black.

Ha! She fell! The cop laughed, and silently thought to himself that he was right! Women have no stamina. He approached the fallen body, and prepared himself to read her her rights. But something was wrong. She wasn't moving. Ah geez, this is bad, the cop thought to himself. This isn't what was supposed to happen. How am I supposed to make police chief if my latest accomplishment is helping in killing a girl? He rolled her over, and into her face. He knew the girl. It was the same one that he had helped take to the hospital not a month before. The D.A.'s daughter. This wasn't going to look good in the papers. He kneeled down, and picked her up, although he knew you weren't supposed to move the unconscious. Taking her back to the squad car was an inhuman feat in itself. When he finally reached it, he called for help. After putting her into the squad car, all he could do was wait.

About 45 seconds later, the cop heard a stirring sound. The girl was awake. He didn't know what to do. Did he read her her rights? Or take her to the hospital? He decided to go ahead with the rights. You have the right to remain silent....

The girl wondered what had happened in the time that she was out. She was in the squad car, and she had no idea how she could have gotten there. The greasy overweight guy talking to her couldn't possibly have carried her. That would have been impossible. He was reading her rights. She didn't care. She just wanted to get this over with.

Empty your bag, the greasy cop told her when they reached the station. You don't want us to do it for you. Not knowing what else to do, the girl emptied her pockets, and her purse. Amongst the paraphernalia lay her $20 baggie, her Visine, her papers, her pipe and the little tinfoil wrapped pieces of paper. The cop came over and searched through the debris. Picked up the tiny tinfoil-wrapped object and raised his eyebrows. This isn't gonna help you, he told her. This is really gonna cost ya.

Sitting in the cell at the jailhouse, she wondered when one of her parents was coming. Just then she heard the familiar sound of her father's footsteps. Not looking up, she acknowledged him with a grunt. Then came the speech that she knew was coming.

The court date was set for a month from then. The whole thing was all over the town papers, and they knew that drugs were done. She had finally gotten what she had wanted. For her parents to feel the pain that she had felt her whole life.

Alanna Foell is a 17 year old living in a farming community in Ontario. She is a 12th grade student and has taken writing courses. She likes to write short stories and poetry and has been writing since she has started school.