Read Placebo Junkies for Free Online

up, book your tickets, maybe even charter a bus if there’s a big enough group going. Another guy walks dogs and waters plants, that kind of thing, for people doing inpatient studies. He’ll also run errands for you, pick up medicine, whatever, if you’re really hurting and can’t fend for yourself for a while. All for a small fee, of course. Jameson keeps a whole damn pharmacy in the spare room in our apartment. He buys up our unused meds for next to nothing, then sells them for a ridiculous amount of money on the side. But like I said, it’s not as bad as it sounds—it’s not like he’s running a meth lab or anything. He’s just selling medicine that hasn’t been officially approved, or maybe just isn’t available yet, to people who don’t have time to wait for all the boxes to be checked. Occasionally some walking skeleton of a person we’ve never seen before will show up, go back to the extra room with Jameson, and come out ten minutes later in a big rush to leave.
    I don’t ask any questions. You do what you gotta do, right?
    “You’re a good writer. And you let your personality come out more on paper. It’s like you, only…more sparkly.”
    I stick my tongue out at him. “Are you saying I don’t usually sparkle?”
    “Oh, you sparkle all right. You sparkle like a horny teenage vampire,” Jameson says. “I’m just saying that you can be a bit reserved in person, and I like the way you let yourself out of your head cage a bit when you write. You should keep it up, maybe take some classes.” He turns up the stereo to drown out the sound of Charlotte having sex with Scratch in the next room.
    “Yeah, right. Harvard keeps calling, asking me when I’m going to accept my full ride, but I just haven’t gotten around to it yet.” I yawn and then make a show of burrowing even further into my blanket nest, but Jameson doesn’t take the hint.
    “I’m serious, Audie. You’re smart, and you should be in school. Not high school, you’re already way past that. Maybe a class or two at the community college, though, or something online.”
    I shoot him a dirty look. He’s doing what Charlotte and I call his Den Mother Thing. For someone who can’t be much more than five years older than me, he can be a preachy bastard sometimes. “Gee, thanks, Dad. And if I don’t, are you going to send me to my room?” I know he means well, but I hate it when people treat me like a kid. I may be young, but I pay my share of the rent and manage my life just fine, thank you very much. “Besides, I don’t see you applying to med schools.”
    “Maybe not, but I’ve already memorized more textbooks than I’d ever have to read in medical school.
I’m
pursuing my interests. Unlike you.”
    He’s about a centimeter from the border between irritating me and seriously pissing me off. “Yeah, well, there’s a reason you’ve never met a self-taught heart surgeon, don’t you think?” I can hear my voice turning sharp.
    “Easy there, Audie.” Charlotte’s still buttoning her pants as she comes out of her room. “The fine Dr. Jameson has hooked me up with many a cure. He’s a hell of a lot more reliable than most of the quacks working around here.” She hands me a pill and then sits down on the couch, practically on top of me. We both started a birth-control study last week and we’re trying to help each other remember to take our pills. Mine are little beige ovals, hers are yellow octagons—it’s anyone’s guess which are the real deal. I’m usually the one to remember first, but sex with Scratch is probably an excellent reminder to take preventive measures ASAP.
    They’re both giving me that look, basically accusing
me
of being the jerk, and I can tell from the way Jameson starts clearing his throat with little
heh heh heh
noises that I actually might have hurt his feelings. “Sorry, J. You can operate on me any day.”
    Jameson winks away my apology, and we fall into one of those awkward silences.