My grades had never had such a wide variety of letters penned onto them before.

They'd only ever seen A's, and yet, in the following week, my papers were becoming very intimate with the first portion of the alphabet. Mr. Owens was the only teacher that actually tried to discuss it with me, but it was evident he believed what everyone else did;It was just the grief talking. And it would pass.

My mom even seemed to think it normal, and on the occasions she was home, didn't even bring it up. I knew Thalia would if she'd known, but she hadn't spoken to me since my outburst and I was actually grateful for the space.

Yet, when Friday arrived again, the novelty of imperfect grades had begun to wear thin, along with my anger. Which was dangerous. That meant turning to the darkness and I wanted to keep that emptiness away from me for as long as humanly possible.

Which left me only one, and possibly very stupid, idea.

I was potentially making a grave mistake, but right now it didn't feel that way. I knew something I wanted, and I knew only one way to get it.

Earlier this week, I'd overheard a cluster of clucking girls talking about a party taking place at Gregory Himmon's house. I had no idea who that was, and it took a few interactions with classmates I'd never spoken to for me to get the necessary information.

Gregory Himmons, I discovered, was captain of the football team.

His address was even easier to come by, given out by some girl whose name I was sure started with an S. I actually found it concerning how simple it was, but no one wanted to deny the girl whose boyfriend had just been gunned down in a seven eleven parking lot.

I wouldn't even be attending for the partying anyway. No, what I wanted was only to forget for a little while. My mind ached for some respite. For a moment when I didn't have to be asleep to not think about defibrillator paddles or the wailing echo of sirens. Because I felt if I kept going like I was, I'd eventually snap.

I actually found myself looking forward to it all as I dressed in jeans and that white blouse I'd worn to Octavia's. I debated on whether or not to bring my phone, but the thought of someone disturbing me was reason enough to keep it plugged into the wall.

It was only six when I drove up to the house, but it was already pulsing with life, strobe lights and the pounding of music assaulting all my senses. It had me pondering if I should turn back—give up on this inane plan I'd concocted—but I killed the engine before I could give myself the proper time to think it over. It wasn't like I was being completely reckless; I was acting like a teenager, for the first time in my life.

I got out of the car, the sound louder beyond the inch of glass. It grew worse as I climbed the porch steps and walked through the open door.

I was greeted by a crowd of people, elbows and stomping feet and shouts ringing from around the room. I was stunned a one-floored house had the capacity to hold this many people; I couldn't even tell what the place looked like through the mass of moving bodies and shoved my way through, standing on my toes to see over the sea of heads.

I only stopped when I spotted the "bar,"-just a large keg, erected in the middle of the kitchen. A line of people already had plastic red cups in hand and I found the stack and pulled off my own.

Stupid idea, reason chided me, but I blocked it out, waiting impatiently as the line thinned and I got my turn at the keg.

The person manning it blinked at me in surprise. Then his face broke out into a wide grin, as he eyes roved over me. "Look who we have here," he beamed, as if taking credit for getting me to this party. "Has the Princess gone rogue?"

So much for the bulletin board.

I extended my cup to him, ignoring his comment. "I'd like a drink."

His grin widened and he gestured to the bottles of some other liquids I hadn't seen, littering the counters. "What'll it be?"

I'd always wondered why people drank. It seemed pointless. Gross. But now I got it. Maybe most people just did it to drown their sorrows. And luckily for me, I had a lot to drown.

"Surprise me."

***********

It had taken nearly two hours and who-knew-how-many cups for those sorrows to finally sink. It was difficult at the start; the liquor had burned my throat for the first two cups and stung for the second two, but it had been smooth sailing from there. I believed I'd even danced to a few songs before finally stumbling out the front and taking a seat in a chair set up on the lawn.

I'd watched the sky bruise over, transforming from evening into twilight. Now it was practically black outside, a few stars blinking down at me.

I looked away from them, towards the street instead. I was considering getting another cup when a shadow crossed in front of me. I looked up, prepared to tell another perverted classmate of mine to beat it.

But I stopped once I met their dark gaze, as ominous and baleful as ever.

I frowned at him. "Well if it isn't Arthur Fonzarelli," I mumbled, tipping back the cup again. It was weird how the more I drank of this stuff, the better it became. I was sure it tasted terrible at one point. "And just when my mood was starting to improve."

"What are you doing?" Bellamy asked, almost angrily.

I wrinkled my nose, gesturing to the cup in my other hand. "What do you think?"

"I think you're making an idiot out of yourself."

I scoffed. "It's a good thing then that I won't remember any of it."

Bellamy shoved his hands in his leather pockets, glancing back at the house like he was debating whether or not to leave. After a second, he looked back at me, eyeing the cup.

"Want some?" I asked.

His expression turned into one of disgust. "Do you even know what's in that?"

I sighed. "Not exactly, but I can tell you it's definitely not Cherry Coke."

"Unbelievable. Are you just doing this for attention?" he asked, the irritation clear in his voice. "For these people's pity? That's pathetic."

I knew I should've taken offense at that, but I found I oddly didn't care. "I didn't come here for pity. I came for the bootleg liquor." I shook my cup for emphasis. "It tasted pretty bad a while ago, but now," I took another sip, slushing it from cheek to cheek like mouthwash before swallowing. "S'not so bad."

Bellamy pursed his lips, casting a cursory glance around the patio. "Where's your lady in waiting?"

"Thalia?" I grimaced. "Not here."

"How'd you plan to get home?"

I swirled the liquid in the cup, feeling like a kid being chastised. My voice turned small. "Guess I forgot about that little detail."

Bellamy made a sound of exasperation. "Yeah, I guess you did. Have fun figuring it out."

I looked back up just in time to see him walking away and I sighed before swallowing down the last bit of the mystery drink. Time for a refill.

I stood up, and the world suddenly swirled around me. The ground switched places with the sky and I swayed, blades of grass rushing up to meet my face.

Arms went around my waist, stopping me before my head could hit the dirt. The person hauled me upright and steered me back to my chair. They twisted me around and pushed me until I was sitting again, lowering themselves into a crouch in front of me. I was once again staring at Bellamy.

My brows furrowed in confusion. "Weren't you just here?"

He sighed, obviously annoyed.

I discarded my vexation, and held out my cup to him. "Well, as long as you're back, could you get me some more of . . . this?"

Bellamy took the cup from me. "I think you've had enough."

I shook my head, and the world tilted once more. "Did you know there's a study on how liquor increases a person's pre-existing depression and raises the chances of causing it in someone without depression?" I asked, giving him a knowing look. I shook my head again. "But I don't agree. I find booze to be a very helpful alternative."

He chuckled without humor. "I doubt you'll be thinking that in the morning."

"Ah, right." I nodded exuberantly. "My first hangover. But that's what teenagers are supposed to experience, right? The drinking, the parties." I wiggled my fingers at him. "So that's what I'm doing. I'm having my experience."

He scrutinized my face, and I was close enough now to see the black flecks in his eyes; the plethora of freckles scattered across his cheekbones that reminded me of constellations. "With no medical textbook, I see."

I soured, my stare turning into a glower. "Yeah, I'm done with those."

He smiled but it was one of sheer disbelief. "The Princess done with books? I don't think so."

Anger flared inside me. "Not Princess anymore. In case you didn't see the board, I failed two tests this week," I held up the number in fingers.

His brows knitted together, eyes staring at me perplexedly. "I thought your grades were perfect."

I shrugged. "They were. But there's a first time for everything."

"Weren't you . . . focused on med-school?" Bellamy asked skeptically, still crass and brusque but actually asking me a question without making his own retort first.

I waved a hand haplessly at him. "Yup. But then my boyfriend died and I lost interest."

He paused. "So just because he's dead, you've decided to screw yourself over, too? Now you really are pathetic."

I made a smacking sound with my lips and shrugged. "What do you mean? In your book, aren't I getting what I deserve?"

That skepticism blinked out, once again replaced by anger. "I didn't say that," he practically snapped.

Unfazed, I leaned back in the chair, arms dangling over the sides. "Doesn't matter now anyway. It's not like it changes anything."

"So you're just gonna drop out?" he asked irately. "What good does that do anyone?"

What was it with this guy? "You're really confusing, you know that? You're pissed when I get good grades and you're pissed when I get bad grades. I think you just like being pissed."

As if to prove my point, his eyes narrowed in contempt. "You don't know anything."

"But maybe I would if you told me. Honesty is your strong suit after all. Plus," I tried to blink back the hazy cloud dancing in my vision. "It's not like I'm actually going to remember much of this. Intoxication swears me to secrecy."

He clenched his jaw. "You really want to know what I'm pissed at?"

I nodded.

"Fine. I'm pissed that you're our little academic mascot when there are plenty of people with excellent grades and yet you're the one who's given the extra attention because of your mom." He leaned a little closer. "I'm pissed that my sister looked up to someone because she noticed her reputation before recognizing her as a person. I'm pissed at how the expectations you've set for yourself makes you an impeccable example to the rest of us, while those who really work for everything, are left standing in the background." He shut his eyes and took a much needed breath before looking back at me. "Satisfied?"

I considered his words as best I could under influence and stared at him levelly, attempting to gauge his expression. Angry. That's what he was. That's all he ever seemed to be. Angry.

"Yup," I said, smiling at him. "Now was that so hard?"

He didn't look interested in responding and stood up from his crouch. "Where are your keys?" He suddenly asked.

"My what?"

"Your car keys."

It felt like a math question, and after a second, he gave up on asking, going into my jacket pockets himself. I pointed an accusatory finger at his searching hands. "This is kind of invasive."

He retrieved the keys and my brain finally made the connection. "Hey, those are mine!" I nearly shouted, trying to snatch them back.

He gave me a look of pure chagrin, keeping them out of my reach with ease. "Yeah, like I'm gonna let you behind a wheel."

I blew a raspberry, giving up the fight. "Yeah. With my luck, I'll just swerve and kill someone on the road."

"Or yourself."

I shook my head. "Doubt it. I have a habit of not dying in those kinds of situations." I tried to pull myself up but the world seemed fixed on keeping me off my feet. Bellamy grabbed my shoulders before it could have its way with me.

Gripping my arm, he started walking, tugging me alongside him. He asked me where I'd parked but honestly, I couldn't remember what kind of car I drove, much less where I put it so he had to resort to leaving me on the sidewalk as he scouted the street, pressing the unlock button. Eventually, one of the rear lights flashed and he dragged me to a blue car.

"Oh, yeah," I said, staring stupidly at the passenger door. "This one is mine." I looked over at Bellamy as he pulled himself into the driver's seat. He leaned over and popped my door open.

I bent down, using the frame for support. "My Mom bought it for me," I added.

"Fascinating. Get in."

When I didn't respond as fast as he apparently wanted me to, Bellamy latched a hand around my wrist and tugged me inside. "Watch your head."

I plopped down in the seat beside him and only remembered to close the door when he told me to. Hands on the wheel, he started the car and pulled out of the lot as I rested my head against the glass, staring sadly back at the house. I'd really wanted that refill.

When we turned down the road and the strobe lights disappeared around the corner, I leaned my head back, staring up at the car ceiling. "Where are we going?" I asked dazedly.

Bellamy let out a long, aggravated sigh. As we came to a stop at the red light, he turned to me. "I'm taking you home." He hesitated, and a look of warning came into his eyes. "You do know where home is, right?"

I crossed my arms over my chest and closed my eyes as a wave of dizziness swept over me. "Yeah."

"What's your address?"

"I don't need an address. I'll recognize my house when I see it."

I sneaked a look at him just in time to see his hands tighten over the wheel. His knuckles turned white. "Give me your phone."

I shut my eyes again before he could catch me looking. "Don't have it. I left it at the house."

Bellamy fell quiet. When he finally spoke, his voice came out strained, like he was a second away from exploding. "Are you kidding me?"

My fingers thrummed against my forearm. "If I were, it'd be a stupid joke."

He blew out a very, very slow breath. "Why wouldn't you bring your phone?"

"Because I didn't want to be interrupted. And the last thing I want is to answer a call inebriated."

"Won't your mom be worried or something?"

I smirked. "She's still at work. I bet she won't even be home tonight."

Again, I peeked over at him, and this time, some of the anger seemed to leave his face.

His lips flattened into a thin line and he leaned back, too, as if in forfeit. "You're really not leaving me much of a choice, are you?" he asked. "I don't have the GPS in this car anymore, so I don't know which route to take from here. And yet you can't give me a street name? A three-digit code?"

I deliberated, but the sudden exhaustion was making it difficult to think. "My house is big," I offered.

The light turned green and he hit the gas.

"My place it is then."

************

I found myself in a studio apartment that smelled of aftershave. It was an open space, furnished in simple, eclectic décor. A tired grey couch was placed in the center of the room, facing towards a small TV and away from the small kitchen occupying the corner to my left. There was a door on my other side that I guessed led into the bedroom. The far side wall was composed entirely of paneled glass, offering a good view of the downtown intersection.

I blinked a few times, my memory of the drive a bit fuzzy as Bellamy pulled me inside. My balance was a wreck and he had to hold onto me to stop me from sliding to the floor. I was beginning to believe him about regretting my decision to drink.

Bellamy dropped my keys on the counter and went to the kitchen and piloted me through the door. He flicked on a switch that was wired to a lamp. It revealed a twin bed covered in a tangle of sheets, piles of books strewn around the floor.

He pushed down on my shoulders until I was sitting on the corner of the mattress. Then he disappeared from the room, returning a minute later with a cup of water. He set it on the nightstand and came back over to my corner of the bed.

Bellamy stared down at me, not even bothering to conceal his resentment so obviously shining in those dark eyes of his. He bent down and pulled off my shoes, tossing them to the side.

I watched him, feeling strangely bemused. "I think I misjudged you," I thought out loud. "I mean, I still think your manners could use a lot of work, but you're not really the delinquent I thought you were."

"And yet, you're exactly the kind of person I originally thought you were."

I made a "pfft"ing noise. "Why? Because I changed my mind about being a doctor?"

"Because you're only thinking about yourself. What about all the money your parents spent entertaining that fickle hope of yours?"

"I'm not becoming a doctor because I don't want to be one. I'm not becoming a doctor because I can't be one." My light mood dissipated and I looked down at my hands, remembering them bathed in that awful shade of red. "I'm not the person who saves people, Bellamy Blake. I'm the person who watches them die."

Bellamy placed his hands on his knees, gazing up at me. "Based on what? Just because your boyfriend bit the dust?"

I didn't even feel insulted by the tactless remark, staring straight through him, glad that right now, the alcohol numbed what inhibitions I usually had.

I swallowed, sudden emotion tightening around my throat like a noose. "Do you know what it's like to . . . put everything of yourself into something? To believe with all that you are that what you're doing will actually make a difference for someone? And then, when you really need it, after you've put years into reading and watching the material and thinking that you'd be able to do what you'd need to do, when it really counts, . . . you fail. You watch as a person you love dies." I laughed. "You, an aspiring doctor. But that's okay, because you'll just study harder for the next time. You'll read and watch everything you possibly can. You'll get perfect grades and you'll be prepared." I shook my head as my voice cracked, vision blurring. "And against all odds, it does happen again. And you fail, again."

I nodded to myself, biting hard on my lip. "So if that makes me selfish for not wanting to deal with that for a third time, then I guess I'm selfish." I flopped down on the bed, trading the image of Bellamy for his tiny ceiling light. "Maybe I could take up art, or something."

I heard as Bellamy stood, moving to the side of the bed. His face swam above me, his head a curly mess. He detangled one of the blankets and flattened it over me.

"So have I done it yet?" I murmured tiredly, tilting my chin up to see him more clearly.

He shot me a glance, too focused on the blanket and making sure I didn't fall off the bed to pay my question much mind.

"Done what?" he asked absentmindedly.

I sighed. "Lost enough. You said I couldn't talk to you like this because you'd lost more, but what about now? Have I lost enough?"

Now he did look at me. His hands stilled and I swore there was a touch of sympathy in his gaze. For a second, I thought he'd actually give me an answer. But he just said, "Go to sleep, Clarke. We'll talk about that tomorrow."

"But I won't remember any of this tomorrow."

He reached for the lamp's switch. "Exactly."