Actually, No

The first trip went fine. On the way back, the train was delayed, and for a second I thought they'd found the drugs. Just a technical problem. The second time, I was more confident. Soon we were going twice a month, by train or by bus. We went clubbing down there. My mom stopped saying anything because I filled the fridge and dressed my baby brother Jules in designer from head to toe. Jude understood, but I'd gone too far, too fast. I quit school. A year later, Claudia and I got an apartment downtown. Queens of the world. For my twenty-first birthday, we popped champagne at the club. Damon was proud of me and mine alone—not many girls had the guts to do what we did—and I gave him the life of a king. I got my breasts and my nose done for him. We walked the avenue with our designer bags. Nothing could stop us. Until, on the way back, fake cops robbed us. It wasn't weed anymore. It was cocaine. We had to pay it back: more runs, and sleeping with the boss to cut the debt. Damon left me. I wasn't pure in his eyes anymore. After that, I had no respect left for my body. We were too busy putting it up our noses to notice we were being followed. One day, Claudia's things were gone, and I had to cover her half of the rent. So high I thought the cops were on my tail, I pulled over on the highway and threw away kilos. P.'s crew beat me, raped me, and nearly left me for dead. That night, I went home to my parents. My mother cried while she washed me. My father could carry me with one arm. I sweated through my sleep, withdrawing from coke, codeine, and sleeping pills. The other girls had gone to college and wouldn't see me. Claudia had been arrested and given everyone up. At five in the morning, the police broke down my parents' door. Jules cried at my handcuffs. My brother whispered not to say anything, he'd find me a lawyer. "Let me go! Mom, Dad, don't let them take me! I'll change, I'll get clean, I'll stop!" "Jade. Jade, wake up." I was drenched, and I had my period on top of it. At four in the morning, I took another shower, as if to wash off every trace of that nightmare. Victoria was waiting. "What was your nightmare about?" "Mary Jane." "What?" "I don't remember. Anyway, I'll work under your name." "No problem. I'm taking ten percent." "I'm your sister." "Yeah, but I pay taxes on it." Before I went to sleep, I sent Claudia a text. Two words: ACTUALLY, NO.