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I hate Mason,but I sort of like having him around in the library on the late nights. Sometimes it’s just the two of us, and it’s comforting to look up and see him sitting there. Sometimes I just watch him working—his brow furrowed in deep concentration as he stares at the diagrams of muscles and bones. When he catches me looking at him, he always smiles at me. He’s somehow become the closest thing I’ve got to a friend at this school.

A few days after my visit to my mother’s apartment, I approach Mason late in the evening while he’s studying.

“I’m going to get some coffee.” My voice cracks strangely on the words, and I clear my throat. “You want a cup?”

Mason blinks in surprise. “Uh… yeah, sure. Thanks, Sasha.”

“Black?” I ask.

“Sounds perfect.”

He smiles at me, and I get a little lost in those hazel eyes. Sheesh, he is really good-looking. But I have no interest in a guy like that. Not a chance. He’s a jerk and a phony and absolutely not my type.

I head to the coffee machine down in the med student lounge and fill up two cups of black coffee. It’s close to midnight, and the floor is deserted, but I still cautiously glance over my shoulder to make sure I don’t have company. When I feel certain I’m alone, I pull my father’s bottle of pills out of my pocket.

I open the bottle and remove a single capsule. I break it open and let the contents dissolve into one of the cups of coffee. I wait until the powder is completely invisible before I start back toward the library.

The irony of the whole thing isn’t lost on me. DeWitt has a drug problem—too many students are popping pills to get through their classes. But Mason is straight as an arrow and would never take drugs. And yet here I am, drugging him.

Calling it a drug is melodramatic though—it’s a medication. It’s not going to hurt him—maybe just distract him enough that he won’t be able to spend every waking hour studying. Or more likely, it won’t affect him at all.

I hand Mason the cup of coffee, careful to give him the cup with the dopamine pill mixed in.

“Wow, thanks, Sasha,” he says. “I really appreciate it.”

I smile. “My pleasure.”