No, I am serious. You and Nick Johnson, right? How much did you sell me out for? I hope it was worth it.
Oh, fuck right off, Clee. My brother brushes off my complaint.
My mother chimes in. Actually, Jordan should be contributing to this. How much money do you have saved up?
He shoots her an incredulous look. Saved up? Nothing. I’m still paying off my truck.
A truck that my father put down the deposit for, so Jordan could take on his new construction job. Not a new truck, but still, I’ve never had a gift like that. I have to borrow rides from my friends. No one’s even asked how I got here.
Sounds like selling drugs to kids isn’t that lucrative, I comment. Seriously, how much did you make? Your fancy lawyer is going to want the answer to that question too.
He frowns, surprised that I’m piling on. I don’t know. Maybe a couple thousand? Which I had to split with Nick.
Oh, wow. Criminal masterminds, I mock. Jordan crosses his arms and glares at me.
Clee, I don’t think name-calling is very productive, my mother scolds.
My father nods impatiently. Right now, we have to concentrate on the important things.
I hold up a hand. No. I didn’t drive all this way just to talk about Jordan. Let’s talk about how this has impacted me.
Your brother could go to jail, and you want to talk about yourself? That’s a bit selfish, isn’t it? Dad asks.
The red-hot anger that cooled as I drove here returns, but when I speak, my voice is calm and rational. Selfish? I don’t think so. Our whole family dynamic rewards fucking up. Every time Jordan messes up, we rally around to fix his problems. Here’s my solution: Let him solve this himself. If he’s entrepreneurial enough to start his own drug business, then he can figure out his own legal defence.
He’s nineteen years old. Still a child in many ways, my mother protests.
Nobody has ever said that about me, I reply. I’ve been looking out for Jordan since I can remember, and I’m only one year older.
But you’ve always been the mature one, my mother replies.
Yes, born old, as your grandmother always says. But the charm in my father’s voice isn’t moving me anymore.
There are consequences to what Jordan did. And I think he should face them, I insist.
Oh, so easy for Miss Perfect, my brother mutters.
I lean towards him. Do you know what happened to me today? I had to go to the clinic and give urine and blood samples in front of witnesses. It was fucking humiliating. I’m suspended from the team until those tests come back, and I’m going to miss our first playoff game. Why? Because my brother used me as the marketing campaign for his drug deals. So, fuck you, Jordan.
My mother straightens. Wait. I didn’t know anything about this. Sean, did you?
My father waves a dismissive hand. It’s a terrible thing, Clee. But, in the bigger picture, it’s not the most important thing. Not important to him, clearly.
What exactly happened? my mother asks.
I wait for my dad or my brother to answer, but, predictably, neither does.
Jordan and Nick said that I was the proof that using ephedrine worked since I was leading my team in scoring, I reply. So, now I’ve been suspended for suspected drug use. Me. Someone who never even drinks coffee or Red Bull before a game.
Jordan, that’s terrible, Mom scolds, her face pale and drawn. Her shoulders sag, like she can’t bear the weight of any more bad news.
He barely shrugs. Wasn’t my idea.
This is so typical of him; denying any responsibility. Nobody says a word for a moment, then my father starts up again about the stupid fucking lawyer.
Wait, I interrupt. Isn’t there something anyone here wants to say to me?
The three of them look at me blankly.
