a/n: Heyza! This story brings together two controversial characters that were in my other two stories, UNcreat1ve7, and Never Just a Rumor. They were controversial because..well, a lot of people both loved and hated them in those stories. Lol. So before you read this, you should probably get through those two first, to know the backgrounds of the main characters in this. It's not necessary – you could probably read this and understand it without those other two stories - but be warned, this story (this chapter) is a total spoiler for the ending of UNcreat1ve17 (which wasn't a bad story so it would be bad to spoil it… go read it first!). :) – Zia

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Chapter 1: Private Packing / Adam

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Six o'clock in the morning/ My head is ready to explode

I can't believe I made it home alive / I don't remember where I went

Or what I was drinking / And now it's made me sick

And I'm not denying / That I get this way

When I try to get over you  –Stabbing Westward

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Alfred Philips Rehabilitation Program Center

Albany, New York 2003 Summer Camp Session

Dear patients and families,

Our caring and attentive program will be commencing this year on Monday, June 16, 2003. All participants should be registered by 10 AM. Registration will be immediately followed by orientation. Attached is a list of rules that should be gone over with parents prior to entry in the center. Severe violation of the center's laws will result in reports made to the government and/or time in juvenile detention.

Please remember, our center is meant to help troubled adolescents, not punish them.

Participants will be expected to keep a daily extensive journal that they will take with them to their individual counseling sessions. The green pages in the front of the book will be looked over by your counselor. The red private pages in the back will not be looked at by anyone but you. The sooner the journals are started, the more our professionals will be able to guide the patients. We encourage these attached journals to be started as soon as possible, prior to coming to the center.

We look forward to working with you soon.

Sincerely,

Alfred Philips Center Staff.

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Philips Center Rules

- Counselors have all authority, listen to them, do as they say.

- It is forbidden to have the following items on you at any time: weapons unless giving to you by staff members for military training, shaving blades, lighters, medication or dugs that has not been given to you by the nurse, cell phones, lab tops, inappropriate reading material, cosmetics, obstructive jewelry, spray cans.

- Females are not allowed in the males' dorms at any time, males are not allowed in the females' dorms.

- Never go anywhere on campus alone.

- Never leave campus without authoritative permission.

- Adherence to the Wrighter uniform is strict. Wear the proper uniform at the proper time at all times.

- Lights out is at 11pm, all must be in bed and quiet.

- Violence, vandalism, and disrespect towards counselors will not be tolerated.

Minor breaking of the rules will result in extra work, labors, or isolation.

Major disobedience will result in reports to your probation officer/the government/juvenile court.

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(green page)

June 16, 2003

This is a fucking stupid assignment. Getting to Philip's was annoying. Registration should be at 3 pm.

That's all,

Adam

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(red pages)

June 16, 2003

A damned thumping woke me up this morning. I didn't fucking appreciate it. I mean, I had spent the entire night before getting drunk and I wanted to hang over in peace. But no, my new "parents" had to give me a fucking wake up call to get me ready to go to lovely Rehab camp. We had to leave for Albany three of four hours early to make it on time for registration at 10 so it was only freaking 6 AM when Andrea and Travis came to bang and holler at my door.

I didn't feel like getting up. Why? Well, I knew I was in deep shit then because A) I hadn't packed yet and B) I was drunk. Something I blamed Andrea for. I had only been miserable all night taking down shots of tequila – I don't even remember where - thinking of much closer she and Travis would get while I sat around in some therapy session talking about how my parents were saintly morons. (My dad was a pastor, before my bad reputation got him run out of town)

I still remember the first time I met her. We had just moved in next door to her and I was six years old, going into first grade. I was really pissed off, for a little six year old, about leaving my friends. I asked my parents if there were any boys around for me to play with and the answer I got was no, but there was a little girl next door my age. And little girls had cooties back then so I was very uninterested. But then one day I was outside playing catch with myself, since there seemed to be a lack of partners on the street, and I managed to loose the ball by throwing it up too high. It went over the fence into the neighbors yard. Stomping my feet with anger I was about to turn around and go back inside the house when the ball magically came flying over the fence back to my side again.

"H-hey! Who threw that?" I shouted over at my neighbors yard.

"A ghost!" came a sarcastic voice. I found myself edging to the end of the fence and watching the shadow through the cracks of wood, I knew this other kid was going there too. The wooden door pushed open and out came a girl with short black hair.

I must have looked disappointed because her voice was sharp when she asked me, "What?"

I sighed. "I thought you were a boy. I'm bored and there's no one to hang out with."

She scrunched up her face in an angry look and leaned forward to snatch the ball away from me. Taking it she aimed it at my face and threw it,

"Ow!" I cried, rubbing my nose. "What the hell was that for?"

She made tight face. "I'm telling! You cursed!"

"No!" I cried. My dad, the pastor, would have killed me. "No," my voice became calmer. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?" she asked. "For insulting me because I'm not a boy?" She was hinting something there.

"No…" I said dumbly, "For cursing."

She rolled her eyes and I fell in love with her right then. "I betcha I can throw farther than you," she challenged me. I denied it right away and we ended having a who-can-throw-the-farthest completion in our front yards, where the fence didn't extend to.

She could throw farther than me.

So I finally had a playmate, and a best friend, even though she was a girl. But unfortunately, it didn't last. In middle school, something happened. We started hanging out with different people. I started drugs, she was her pure untainted angelic self - she became girlier, I mean. Then one day, in high school (I usually skip, but I was there that day for some mandatory testing or some shit)  I looked at her, and I realized how beautiful my tom boy best friend had become.

And I still fucking want her.

Though I've given up all hope of getting that. I mean, Dave Travis is not only Mr. Perfect, going to Harvard, he's also my unofficial lawyer and the guy who kept me out of juvenile detention even though I shot a bullet through his chest…

Yea, it's a long story. Here's the short version. Andrea and I were actually dating, but she and Travis had a thing for each other, and when I found out I went into a jealous rage that ended with my shooting Travis (now Andrea and Travis are together, which I can't say anything about since Travis cleverly got me out of prison - and now I owe him.).

See why I need rahab, now? I mean, the government isn't even sending me for the attempting murder thing. It's for the drug thing. I kind of consider myself a drug lord. Travis got my old supplier busted and put in prison (in place of me, mind you) but recently I found some new business partners.

So when Andrea and Travis started calling my name outside my apartment, with a hammering headache torturing me, I managed to yell at them to wait a second because I was naked (that always works) and hurriedly did some private packing, knowing that Andrea would insist on getting into all my stuff when she started packing for me after she found out that I hadn't done it myself.

I usually can't think well when I'm drunk. But somehow right then I had a drive going on. It was like a motor roaring at me: drugs drugs drugs drugs. Somehow I knew that if I didn't get them then, I'd have to go 90 fucking days without anything. And 90 days with a single smoke… that would fucking kill me. 

I grabbed the flashlight I was taking and twisted the top to take the cover off. Turning the body upside down I dumped the four batteries inside noiselessly onto my bed and moved to my dresser, tripping over some clothes on my floor on the way there. Outside, Andrea heard the thump of my fall and called out to me. I ignored her. At the dresser, the third drawer down, second up from the bottom, was my current drug stash. I took out my shoebox in there and picked out canisters of colorful fun looking pills. I put them inside the flashlight in place of the batteries. I stuck a real battery on top of the three canisters and shut the flashlight back up. I threw that onto my bed and next traveled to my suitcase. There's this extra pocket at the very bottom of the piece of luggage which most people cant tell is there since it's really narrow compared to the rest of my wide suitcase and also since there's a pocket right under it and right on top of it so you'd never feel it was there. Things from the other two pockets would be in your way. I fit a narrow container of white powder in there, some cannabis leaves etc. There were one or two already made joints but most of my produce was assembly required. Hm, I should probably charge extra for the joint rolling efforts I will have to make.

I fit some more stash into various places – inside my umbrella, in my shoes, between the pages of a book or two, and then went to answer the door, smoothing my pants down so it didn't look like I had slept in them (contrary to what I had told Andrea and Dave – about sleeping naked).

As the door moved open I found Andrea's impatient face looking straight at me. She looked so great in a pair of baggy jeans and a tight black tank top with her long silky dark hair flowing past the collar that it made me hurt inside. I forced myself to look away and stare at good old uninteresting Dave. He looked like your average combination genius jock. He wore a jersey over loose fitting khakis and had a pair of glasses on his nose. His spiked up hair gave him an added flavor of punk.

Andrea took one look around at my room and started yelling. "You're STILL not packed yet!?"

Fuck that! It's not like I had a lot to put in my suitcase anyway. We have to wear fucking uniforms!

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author's note: I know. I know. It was short. I'm going back to my "Uncreat1ve7" short but numerous chapters style cuz it's a lot easier than "Never Just a Rumor" long chapters that go on and on style. *Shrugs* It's going somewhere. The next chapter is in a girl's POV –Zia