Senior Semester: All The While Part 1

All the While.

by Gina Azzi.

THE SENIOR SEMESTER SERIES:.

Lila Avers, Mia Petrella, Maura Rodriguez, and Emma Stanton are inseparable. They have been that way since their freshman year at McShain University. More than just friends, they're sisters.

Now at the start of their senior year, the four girls are parting ways for the fall semester. Lila has accepted a medical interns.h.i.+p through Astor University in California. Mia is spending the semester studying abroad in Rome, Italy. Maura is staying behind on campus for her last season as a member of the McShain University rowing team. And Emma is psyched to land her dream interns.h.i.+p in Was.h.i.+ngton, D.C. During their semester apart, all four girls grow, learn, evolve-and ultimately, fall in love.

Follow the series to experience their senior semester-and all of their drama, laughter, and life lessons-with them!.

BEFORE.

March 28.

10:23 AM.

Prologue.

Adrian.

I didn't realize I was out of control until I literally spun out of control.

And by then, it was too late to stop.

"Move!" I yell at the car in front of me, gesturing rudely with my middle finger. Stopped again in traffic, I'm ready to bang my head against the steering wheel.

Relax, Aid. It's fine. You won. It's over.

We won. LaFarge University's Varsity Eight took first place at the San Diego Crew Cla.s.sic this weekend. f.u.c.k, it's like I can breathe easy for the first time in weeks. In fact, I rode a natural high the whole flight back to Philadelphia. The adrenaline from the win, the start to our season, the camaraderie between my teammates and me. Hanging with Zack was just like old times: no questions, no sidelong glances. Just beers, jokes, and stupid pranks. But now I'm back in Philadelphia and the excitement over the win bleeds into my anxiety over the slew of regattas marking every weekend of my calendar through May-until the Dad Vail Regatta, the biggest collegiate rowing race in the U.S. And we have to win Dad Vail.

The good times quickly fade into paranoia as my old back injury flares up, sending waves of pain up and down my spine. My right arm tingles. My head pounds. I just need a few pills to set me straight. And then everything will be fine. Like it always is. Except when I reached for the bottle this morning, an old prescription I swiped from Zack months ago and kept refilling, it was empty. Nothing left. Zack called me out on it. Accused me of using his prescription to self-medicate. Told me he called the pharmacist and cancelled all future refills. He had the f.u.c.king nerve to look me dead in the eye and tell me he was doing this for my own good. Yeah f.u.c.king right. Because he's my best friend, my brother, and he cares so much about me. What a crock. If he was my best friend, he would understand how badly I need this, need to get through the season, need us to win Dad Vail.

Man, watching his mouth open and close, words falling out in a mixture of concern and anger, I couldn't even process what the h.e.l.l he was saying. I was f.u.c.king suffocating. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.

So here I am in search of a necessity, scouting out an old acquaintance for a Percocet or Vicodin hookup. Just to take the edge off. Just to make it through practice this afternoon. Just to get through this week. It's spring break and we're doing two-a-days.

And then I'll get some help.

At least, that's what I keep telling myself. And that's what I told Philips last month when he asked how my back was. "Good, bro," I lied straight to his face. "Got some help for it." But I never mentioned I swiped it off of Zack. Deep down I know Zack and Philips suspect I'm using, but they would never out me to Coach. Nah, they're my friends so they think they can help me.

These days, I can't even help myself.

March 28.

12:04 PM.

Hector f.u.c.king came through. Thank G.o.d. Hector Diaz, a guy I never thought I'd cross paths with after high school graduation just came through in the clutch with thirty Percocet and twelve Vicodin. Jesus. I exhale loudly, making a right at the stop sign. I raise my knee to keep the wheel straight as I uncap my water bottle and toss back a handful of pills, adding a few extra to my usual dosage as the pain in my back borders on excruciating; each movement I make is its own type of jarring agony. The moment I swallow the pills, a small flicker of relief radiates from the pain. I should feel better in no time. These will kick in soon and by this afternoon's practice, I won't be feeling any pain.

I laugh to myself. I never wanted to come back to my old neighborhood after my twin sister Maura and I managed to make it out. Small liberal arts universities in the heart of Philadelphia offered us both rowing scholars.h.i.+ps. And from that first August we moved in freshman year, neither one of us ever looked back. Thank G.o.d for that. Our old street has gone to s.h.i.+t. Mom and Dad moved to a better part of town two years ago, which was a relief. I avoid these streets at all costs ... unless, you know, I'm desperate.

With my pill bottle full, I settle down considerably. The anxiety frozen in my chest melts and my headache subsides. Glancing at my phone in the cup holder, I ignore the four missed calls from Zack. f.u.c.k, if I feel like dealing with him right now.

Turning onto the 476, I accelerate quickly and weave my way into the left lane. The old memories that always resurface after a visit to my childhood neighborhood-Maura and I playing stickball with the kids on the block, eating ice cream on the stoop in summer, smelling Mom's arroz con pollo wafting through the front window-hide in the box I keep them locked away in.

A dull throb begins at the base of my neck, moving upward toward my temples. I pinch the bridge of my nose and shake my head to clear the pain. My throat starts to dry and I work to swallow. f.u.c.k, what's going on? My heart rate seems to pick up and slow all at once. The road before me blurs, the pa.s.sing signs difficult to read. Was Hector's s.h.i.+t laced with something? I tug on my seatbelt, trying to hold it away from my chest as it becomes increasingly difficult to breathe.

What the f.u.c.k is going on?

My phone rings again.

I should pull over.

f.u.c.k, I'm tired. My eyelids start to slide closed as my shoulders roll forward, and I slump in my seat.

I don't even notice when my hands slide off the steering wheel. I don't register my car veering too close to the divider. I definitely don't remember flipping over the divider and slamming hard into the air bag. And it never crosses my mind that I'll never wake up again.

AFTER.

MAY.

Chapter One.

Maura.

I wasn't always a promiscuous s.l.u.t. In fact, I never really slept around until Adrian disappeared from my life. Before that, when he was around, I was too concerned about his opinion, cared too much about him and the values our parents raised us with, to ever have a slew of one-night stands. But when he stopped playing by the rules, I figured why the h.e.l.l should I?

And that's how it started. The drinking, the s.e.x, the painful loneliness that eats pieces of my heart and gnaws at my soul. Even when I'm surrounded by people, even when I'm with my entire team, even when I'm laughing with my best friends, Emma, Lila, and Mia, I'm so alone it hurts to breathe in too deep. Like if I do, I'll shatter the facade I'm trying so hard to keep up.

And so I drink. Wine, Vodka, Tequila. Anything to numb my body from absorbing the shock of Adrian's loss. Anything to numb my mind from processing that he's gone, from addressing the anger I'm harboring over his death. Because the truth is that I am insanely furious at Adrian for leaving me behind. But how can you stay angry at a dead person when the rest of his world, those who loved him and grieve for him, have already placed him on a pedestal? My mom can't even mention his name without tears welling up in the corner of her eyes. My dad prefers to pretend that everything is fine. And so I'm utterly alone. Alone in my thoughts, alone in my missing, and definitely alone in my anger which, some days, threatens to consume me entirely.

To attain the sweet embrace of numbing detachment I've quickly come to rely on, I need to drink. I need to inhale the calming sweetness of Marlboro Menthol Golds like no athlete before me ever has. I need to have lots of deliciously mind-numbing s.e.x with random men. In the mornings that follow, I wash their scent off of my skin and pretend the night before never happened. And sometimes, if I'm really lucky, I can hardly remember the night at all.

The only thing I don't touch, never have, never will, is drugs. Because as much as I miss my brother, as much as it pains me to admit the truth, even to myself, I'm furious with Adrian for essentially taking his own life. Sure, he didn't intend to at the time but an overdose is just as selfish as suicide. At least to me.

I keep my grades up, smile politely at my professors, banter with my cla.s.smates. I attend practices on time, dig into each and every catch, my hair expertly tucked into one of Adrian's old baseball caps, my sungla.s.ses hiding the void in my eyes. And even though everyone knows something is wrong, something is off, no one can quite figure out what it is.

Just like with Adrian.

Ironic, isn't it?.

JUNE.

Chapter Two.

Zack.

Straightening up from the marker I just made in the dirt, I stand slowly, allowing my body to adjust to my new position. Rolling my neck from side to side, I feel rivulets of sweat track down my spine. G.o.d, it's hot today.

Swearing under my breath, I wipe the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand and adjust the Cowboy hat perched on my head. Squinting in the distance, I can just make out my uncle's pick-up truck pulling up to the front of the house. Aunt Maggie is waiting on the porch to speak with him privately before she calls us all in for dinner. Thank G.o.d we'll be eating soon. I'm famished.

The sun has been beating down on me all day, burning the tops of my shoulders even through the cotton of my T-s.h.i.+rt. I've been out here for hours, measuring and marking the points where the posts for the new pasture fence need to be placed on my uncle's ranch. Tomorrow, Teddy and I will dig the holes using an auger attached to an old tractor. An entire week's worth of work awaits us and as exhausted as I am, sleep never finds me. Not even out here in the peaceful countryside where green pastures stretch for miles and puffy white clouds hang from the sky.

Not even after a twelve-hour day of grueling manual labor and an extra helping of Aunt Maggie's apple pie after I devour a steak dinner, mashed potatoes, and cornbread. Nope. Whenever I close my eyes, whenever I allow myself to be still, not engaging my mind in some menial task at the ranch, the guilt I harbor over Adrian's death wells up in my chest like a balloon. He's been gone for almost four months now. Sometimes it feels like he just died yesterday and I'm still reeling with the news, unable to grasp the fact that he's really gone. That it's my fault. Other days I'm so exhausted from absorbing his loss that time takes on an entirely new meaning and it feels like decades.

I can still see the moment realization crossed Adrian's face-the moment when he knew that that I knew he was using my old prescriptions for his back pain and I called him on it. The anger flashed in his eyes, slashed across the thinness in his lips, as his momentary confusion morphed into absolute outrage. I accused him of self-medicating, of being addicted, of blowing our season if he couldn't get his s.h.i.+t under control. And he stared at me, his mouth slightly ajar, his eyes wide and wild with anger, hurt, and betrayal. He left moments later, walking out the door with a "f.u.c.k you, man" thrown over his shoulder at me. I flipped him the bird and shouted after him that he was f.u.c.king up his own future. I never thought those would be the last words I ever said to him. It was inconceivable that I would never see him again.

And now that he's gone, it's almost as if I don't know how to keep moving forward. Adrian was my best friend, my brother. We had plans together. We were going to go out west to California this summer. Get jobs on Venice Beach and chill. Enjoy the sun, spend our days on the beach and our nights with beautiful women. We were going to graduate in May and get sick jobs in Manhattan, be roommates somewhere in Brooklyn. Maybe Williamsburg. Or Greenpoint. Some days we talked about applying to graduate school just so we could keep the good times from college rolling.

But now Adrian is gone. And it seems insensitive to go to California without him. Half of our summer plans were his dreams, his ideas, so instead of partying in Venice Beach, I'm out here, in the middle of nowhere, busting my a.s.s twelve hours a day as a ranch hand, praying I can sleep for five consecutive hours. My dad and uncle thought the hard work would be good for me, that the fresh air and beautiful scenery would help. And that, if anything, at the end of each day I would be too physically exhausted to mentally anguish over Adrian's death.

They were wrong.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, knocking me back to the present. In the distance, Aunt Maggie is waving at me to come in for dinner. I s.h.i.+ft my weight, ignoring the scream of soreness in my back and shoulders. I wave back to Aunt Maggie and slip my phone out of my back pocket, freezing momentarily as Lauren's name pops up on the screen.

Lauren: Hey. I'm worried about you. Just want to see how you're doing? I miss you, Zack.

I sigh, pressing delete and start my walk back to the house.

JULY.

Chapter Three.

Maura

Living with my parents for the summer is the worst decision I've ever made. It's a colossal nightmare. And I regret it. Every. Single. Day.

Each morning, Mom sits at the kitchen table with her hand wrapped around the handle of her coffee mug. Except there's no coffee inside. She stares off into s.p.a.ce, periodically murmuring things to herself like, "need to buy toilet paper," or "did Henry change the lightbulb in the bathroom?"

Dad leaves before the sun is up and returns after sunset, preferring to spend his days at my uncle's garage where he buries himself in tune-ups and oil changes. When I do see him around dinner time, he ruffles my hair like he used to when I was a kid and quips, "Things all right, mi corazon de melon?"

So this leaves me to my own devices, which, as of late, has led me to my childhood neighborhood. The streets Adrian and I once considered home, where we played manhunt in the summertime with the kids from the block and licked dripping ice cream cones on the stoop in summer. The place has really gone downhill, and I'm relieved Mom and Dad moved to a better part of town a few years back.

Still, skirting along the edge of danger provides me with a thrill that's becoming harder and harder to feel. When the sadness and depression clinging to the walls of my parents' house becomes too much for me, it's easy to lose myself in the streets of North Philly. Particularly under the heavy frame of Hector, a guy I graduated high school with. He deals on the side, has a sweet ride, and knows how to get me off. So I head to the old neighborhood, my best a.s.sets on display, and smile and flirt until Hector makes me pant and groan.

And sometimes, if I'm really lucky, I feel nothing afterward.

AUGUST.

Chapter Four.