They call me promising, sharp, gifted. A future wrapped in straight A’s and handshakes from counselors who beam when I speak like my words are gold and not just camouflage. I raise my hand with right answers while last night’s vodka still claws at my throat. No one notices the way I flinch at fluorescent lights, the way my smile is a stitched-on thing, or the way my eyes dart around because they can't keep focus. My backpack smells like peppermint gum and lies. My breath smells like alcohol covered with Polar Ice gum. I keep eye drops in my pocket next to mints and the bottle I sip from in the bathroom between AP English and Calc. Gifted. Like the word means I can’t break. Like talent is a shield against ache. Like it is synonymous to success. But I am two peeople: AP and honors glory and solitary drinker.