[ WP ] `` Watch out or you 'll end up like Alice . ''

When Lance got into Dartmouth I knew he was up to something. Adderol, blood doping, testosterone supplements, tren. All of these can explain sudden bursts of exemplary behavior, a swift kick in the pants sending a person flying through the realm of desperation and landing them further right on the ol' bell curve. But this I could n't believe. Lance, whose dorm walls were crisp white, unadorned. Tie was always tied just tight enough, no shirttails loose or threads pulled on his sweater vest. Even during casual weekends, unsurveyed by the authority as it exists in our little school, enjoying darts and billiards in the common room his polo was tucked in crisply to his khakis. There was n't a rebellious, forward thinking bone in his body. From the deep fires of my revolutionary spirit I knew him to be an enemy, despite the fact that I never heard a strong opinion ( pro or anti-authority ) from him. 
 
 At least that's how it started, I saw the Sophomores a year above me start to beef up their applications in December. The institution attracted all kinds of outliers, our lacrosse and academic decathlon teams were undefeated and shared many of the same members, but Lance was not one of the elite few who we all knew would be singled out by the all-powerful Ivy League admissions committees and raised to the heavens of society among the other angels, transcending us mortals' petty competition. I did n't notice when a few of the girls from across the way started lingering outside of the practice field where he played ( mediocre ) for the soccer team. I did n't see when our math and philosophy professors started smiling, really smiling, when he raised his hand in class. I did n't notice when he was walking with Principle Mikkels, both smiling and laughing, Lance trailing his hand along the fence. He was selecting leaves of ivy from the frame and then forsaking them, dropping them back to earth. 
 
 I did notice when I was returning from one of my late-night secret trysts with my small pipe and tiny bag of weed. I'd discovered an unpatrolled hallway which led back to just near enough to the dorm doors to make a run for it. The hall trailed along the outside of the West wing, not much was done over here but pieces of art by students were displayed. I normally ignored them in part because they were derivative trash, obviously shat out by some apathetic student on the complacent understanding that any effort at all would guarantee an A, another four points towards the grade point average and the satisfaction of a fine arts graduation requirement. 
 
 Then I saw it, simple canvas and oil paints. The thing was damn beautiful guys, I do n't think any description would do it justice. Just go check it out, it's still up in the hallway. Look at the name at the bottom right and tell me what you see. Actually, fuck it. You know. It's Lance. I started looking at some of his work in other courses, philosophy and math, and I was impressed with the elegance of his arguments, it seemed like he knew much more than the question asked him to and he toyed with each of them, giving them hints through his answers to their simple questions of the much larger questions they should ( could ) be asking. 
 
 Acceptances rolled around about a year later and would n't you know it but good ol' Lance got a fat parcel in the mail from Dartmouth. I knew the kid's GPA and his SAT and they were much less than outstanding. He sucked at soccer. I truly, honestly believe he got in on the sheer merit of his personal statement and letters of rec. Shit you not, up until that point I was n't even sure they read those. I had to figure out what was going on. 
 
 I know it's desperate but I followed him on one of the town trips. He took a few back ways, maybe trying to lose a tail or maybe just rehearsing the convoluted wanderings during which at some point he discovered his destination Eventually he turned into an old shop, a tattered sign the door read `` The rabbit's hole.'' 
 
 Not an adult emporium surprisingly, but close. An old head shop. Looking through the dusty window I saw him trade a wad of bills with an old ponytailed hippy ( dressed like some kind of steampunk nobleman, pocketwatches are so lame ) for a sheet of what looked like those sugar buttons on thin receipt paper that were popular back in elementary school. 
 
 I hung around the corner so I could see what he did on the way out, but would n't you know it, he turned right into me. I could tell looking into his eyes that he knew I knew. So I guess I knew he knew I knew. Whatever. 
 
 I asked him very nicely to explain and he seemed more than willing, lead me to a park a few blocks north where the old growth trees and weeping willows turned the sunny day into twilight, ignoring the high noon hour. There gathered there a few of the kids from our school, a few of the girls from across the way, and some townies. They all looked so goddamn happy. They laughed and flirted and ran like little kids, just aimless chase. No rules tag. Tagbacks abound. 
 
 They explained they'd been buying this stuff, `` like LSD but not at all,'' from the old hippy in the rabbits' hole. They'd been doing it for about a year now, discovered the place entirely on accident while hanging out after a soccer tourney in the town. They offered me a tab. 
 
 `` Is this stuff risky?'' I asked, I mean I experiment but you know I do n't know what the hell it was. 
 `` Not at all. Just... do n't take too much. The creativity can be addicting and if you OD- well I guess not OD but take too much at once, get greedy, it can go bad.'' Lance responded to me. `` Watch out, or you'll end up like Alice.'' 
 
 He gestured to the edge of a park where ( I ca n't believe I did n't notice before ) It looked like a beautiful blonde girl in her prep school uniform was grinning and laughing, smiling at the trees. 
 
 `` She's been like this for about a week now, she keeps talking about all sorts of weird shit. Growing bigger and smaller, disappearing cats. We tried to keep it secret but that's hard when you're tripping twenty-four-seven, you know? Teachers noticed. It's bad, her folks are going to get her in a psychiatric camp somewhere in the West once they get back from Fire Island. She wo n't snitch on us though.'' 
 
 I stared hard at her strange posture and face, grin as big as you please, eyes wide. She babbled like a toddler. I turned back to Lance, his smile of a similar quality but lesser magnitude. 
 
 `` Definitely not gon na happen to you. You want some?'' 
 
 What did I choose? Well I think the fact that I'm fucking stalling on my degree in community college right now, working part time at the stupid grocery store as a bag boy should tell you the answer. If I could go back I'd take that tab in a heartbeat. 

