Smoke, page 11
“H-hi.” My voice cracks in a decidedly uncool way. I clear my throat and try again. “Hey,” I say louder, causing heads to swing toward me.
Abe starts choking, quickly hiding what’s left of the joint behind his back. Four pairs of red eyes squint at me with suspicion.
“Who’re you?” Ronan asks, his blond brows cinching together as if trying to place me.
Using my real name suddenly feels dangerous. And since I don’t recognize any of them, I’m betting their vacant stares mean they don’t know me, either. “I’m…Lily,” I blurt, dragging my gaze from a patch of lily of the valley growing nearby. “I’m sort of new here.”
Chloe stops plucking at the frayed denim strings around the holes in her jeans and angles her head. “Well, this is a private club, Lily, so move along.” She makes a dismissive shooing motion with her hand.
Abrasive. Distrustful. Sharp-tongued. It was already clear from my surveillance that Chloe would be the toughest nut of the group to crack.
“Easy, Chlo,” Ronan murmurs, turning his sleepy gaze back on me. “No harm in hearing what sort-of-new girl has to say.”
“Lily,” I repeat, hugging the bag at my shoulder. God, I hope this works.
“Right.” Ronan’s lazy grin returns as he slow-motion blinks at me. “So, Lily, what brings you to our sharing circle?”
“Sharing circle?” Abe balks, taking a break from twisting his goatee into mini horns. “Dude, no. Don’t ever say that again.”
“Um, I actually brought you guys something.” I pat the messenger bag. Intrigued, Ronan motions to the others to make room for me. I take a seat between Abe and Max, feeling my face flush under the group’s scrutiny. I dig into the bag, all of them leaning in curiously as I pull out my vending machine haul. “For sharing,” I explain. “In the circle.”
Ronan gives Abe a pointed look. See, his expression suggests.
“Well, it’s cute when she says it,” Abe mutters defensively. “And I call dibs on the mini Oreos!”
Hands begin snapping out around me. But Chloe’s arms remain tightly crossed at her chest. I can tell she wants the can of sour cream and onion Pringles in a bad way. They’re her favorite. In fact, I made sure to bring everyone’s favorite.
“What’s the catch?” she asks.
“No catch,” I reply, holding out the chips. “I was told never to come to a party empty-handed. So.” I jiggle the can.
Chloe’s near drooling, her glassy eyes locked on the chips while the boys dig into their treats. She finally breaks, snatching the Pringles and popping open the top, quickly cramming one into her mouth. Her watery stare fixes on me as she chews. “You want something. I can tell.”
Well, I can’t exactly argue that. Even high, the girl’s perceptive as hell.
“Don’t mind her,” Ronan says, tearing open a bag of licorice rope with his teeth. “She always gets paranoid after a smoke sesh. Don’t you, Chloe?”
She scowls.
“Hey”—he nods to me—“thanks for the provisions. I’m Ronan, by the way.” He introduces the others, who raise their hands in half waves.
Max has already inhaled his candy bar. Wiping a chocolate-smudged hand over his Flaming Lips T-shirt, he hoists the guitar back to his lap. “You guys wanna hear my latest? It just came to me.”
I guess the question is rhetorical, because Max immediately launches into a series of lively chords, accompanied by lyrics he seems to be making up as he goes. He sings of a girl with hair the color of old pennies, with lips puffed like pillows and limbs like a willow. “Oh, Lily—” he croons. “Sweet, sweet, Lily—”
Okay…wow. Max made up a song about me. And now my alias is being rhymed with words like silly, dilly, and frilly. At this rate, I’ll be here till next Tuesday.
“You’re not special, you know,” Chloe informs me, sucking the flavored powder off her fingers. “Max has a song for everyone. Even his ferret.”
Max slaps a hand to the strings, cutting the final notes short. “Uh, profoundly untrue, Chlo. Only those who are worthy get a musical tribute.”
Ronan makes to flick what’s left of the joint (now a charred nub) into the shrubbery.
“Wait, don’t throw that!” I call out, reaching to catch his sleeve.
He does another slow blink, lowering his hand. “Why? No one’s gonna find it.”
Everyone’s looking at me weird. Good. Because that means they don’t already know the weed wisdom I’m about to drop.
“It’s not that,” I say to Ronan, sinking back to my spot. “You should save it. Save all your roaches. That way you can make a super blunt.”
“Super blunt,” Max whispers in wonder, his dark eyes peering through me as he contemplates. “Lily, you just gave me another song idea!” Pulling a spiral notepad from his pocket, he begins scribbling.
“I don’t get it,” Chloe says. “What makes it ‘super’?”
I grin, realizing this is my secret weapon to win her over. “Because the little bit of leftover bud in the roach is ‘super’ potent. Has to do with the constant flow of smoke running through it, so it usually has a higher THC content.”
They are absolutely rapt.
I continue. “Just make sure to store your roaches in an air-tight glass jar to cut down on the smell. Then, once you have enough, break them open and make a newly rolled blunt out of the remains. A super blunt. Or”—I lift a shoulder—“some call it a grandfather blunt.”
There’s a collective wave of aww yeahs and right ons that fill the circle. I smile a little as they excitedly chatter.
Chloe fist-bumps me. “Not bad, new girl.”
Already my hours of research are paying off.
But the clock is ticking, and lunch is nearly over.
“So, uh, I gotta run. Need to swing by the office to try and talk my way out of detention,” I lie, gathering up my things.
“I feel you, girl,” Abe says. “That was me last week. Didn’t work out so well, but maybe you’ll have better luck.”
“Thanks.” I start to leave and pivot back. “Hey, uh, you guys wouldn’t happen to have a source for some decent homegrown around here, would you? I got some stuff from this dealer.” I pretend to rack my brain for her name. “Janie? Jenny?” I shake my head. “Anyway, it was crap, mostly seeds and stems.”
“You mean Jess,” Ronan says with a snort, resting back on his elbows. “Yeah, you don’t wanna deal with her. She’s bad news.” Then he stares up at the sky.
And I wait for him to say more. Willing him to say more. Ready to crawl over there and shake the more out of him if I have to. Meanwhile, Abe and Chloe bicker over whether red M&M’s cause cancer, while Max strums softly in the background.
“Ronan?” I prompt, my patience running out.
He points a piece of licorice skyward. “That cloud looks like a T. rex, doesn’t it? And right next to it, that one there looks like a drumstick. Mmm, I could go for a bucket of extra-crispy about now.” He chomps the end of the licorice, not breaking his gaze from the clouds.
“Ronan!”
He looks at me in a daze.
“Homegrown? Know of anyone?” I repeat.
“Huh? Oh yeah,” he says with a dopey grin. “Try Ash. Asher Ford.”
My skin tingles with excitement. Finally I’m getting somewhere. After Ronan gives me the number, I wave goodbye as Max sends me off with another rousing rendition of “Lily.”
Sauntering across the school grounds, I clutch the precious number in my hand. My smile blossoms big and bright. Asher Ford, I’m going to learn so much from you. You just don’t know it yet.
* * *
I nail a pothole with my front tire, the impact traveling all the way back in my molars. The bike wobbles, and I almost wipe out in our driveway. Which would’ve been tough to explain given the ungodly hour on a school night. But Tuesday’s warmer temperatures have delivered a sudden fog that drapes like curtains over the low-lying areas, making it difficult to navigate the bumpy stretch home.
The warm mist clings to my skin and eyelashes. I squeeze the brakes and hop off my bike to walk the rest of the way.
Sounds of bullfrogs snap the air like rubber bands, alongside the high-pitched chitter of insects. The creatures of the night are electric, buzzing with energy. Meanwhile, I barely have the energy to step one foot in front of the other.
At least my hard work’s paying off. Not only is the basement spotless, but I’ve also gathered a good amount of grow equipment—like bulbs, ballasts, and hoods. Now all I need is some guidance on how it all comes together. Which is exactly what I intend to learn from the meeting I’ve set up with Asher Ford on Saturday night.
Rounding to the back, I nestle my bike beside Knox’s, when a loud clunk comes from behind me. I crane my neck toward the sound. Tick-tick-tick-tick. The barn door slides open along the track.
Panicked, I dive for cover behind the chicken coop. The birds stir in their roosts. It’s got to be Dad. But is he coming or going?
A minute or more passes without sound. Sucking in a breath, I tiptoe to the rear of the coop and peek around the corner. Dad’s broad-shouldered silhouette appears as he steps out from the barn, heaving the large door shut.
I plaster myself to the structure, becoming one with the wood siding. The chickens cluck and ruffle their feathers as my father approaches. His boots tromp over the naked stretch of ground where the grass has been worn away.
As long as he doesn’t look back, he won’t see me flattened against the coop. Blood pushes faster through my veins. Maple leaves rustle. And my breath stays bottled in my lungs…until he passes on the other side.
I exhale. Keep walking, Dad. Go straight inside and up to bed.
He stops at the bottom of the porch steps, head tipping up like he’s heard something. I clamp my lips together. And just as my father starts to turn, a bark from inside the house stops him. Geronimo. I’m giving that dog all the treats tomorrow. Dad hustles up the stairs and inside.
My head drops back against the coop. I stare up at the clouds that churn like a cauldron of witch’s brew. That was close. I need to do a better job of scouting the barn before—
“Well, well. Look who’s out past curfew,” my brother murmurs.
“Knox!” I gasp. “What are—” A light at the other end of the house clicks on. We hold our positions and conversation for the time it takes for Dad to draw his shade and the bedroom to eventually go dark. With the coast clear, I dash across the yard to the shadowy lump.
“Never thought I’d see the day I bust you for breaking curfew.” Knox clucks his tongue. “Oh, how the mighty do fall.” He makes a whistling noise followed by a splat.
“Bust me?” I repeat, winded as I slide down next to him beside the lattice. “You’re not going to tell Dad, are you?”
“Depends.” A lopsided grin lifts the corner of his mouth.
He wants to see me squirm, and a month ago, he probably would’ve succeeded.
“Don’t jerk me around,” I hiss. “Do you know how many times I’ve covered for you? Countless. Like seriously, I have lost count.”
“Oh, relax. Besides, why would I rat you out when I’m bursting with pride?” He chuckles to himself. “Always knew you had it in you.”
Knowing I’ve made my brother proud isn’t exactly a high point. “So what are you doing out here?”
“Met up with a friend.” A lighter sparks. The flash of yellow illuminates his face as he takes a drag. “Now I’m just waiting to sneak back in.” Knox relays the entire sentence on his inhale. Then he snorts and coughs, a white cloud billowing from his mouth like a chimney.
“Shh! You want Dad to hear you?” I whisper.
He clears his throat. “Ideally, no. But a cough has to go somewhere, doesn’t it? Hey, wait…” The soft glow coming from the cherry on the end of his joint shows his eyebrows have magnetically pulled together. My brother turns his head toward me.
I brace for him to ask the obvious question: Why am I out so late?
“Have you ever wondered where all the uncoughed coughs go? Or how about all the sneezes that didn’t get sneezed? Man, that’s some serious existential bee-in-the-forest shit.”
Relieved, I sag back against the house, hooking my arms around my knees. “It really isn’t. You’re just high, so you think everything you say is profound.” It’s like Ronan and his crew all over again. “And for the record, it’s tree in the forest. Falling bees isn’t a thing.”
“Wait.” He scratches his head, mouth quirking. “Then what’s the bee one? A bee in hand…is worth two in the…tush?” Knox blinks. “Hell, that doesn’t sound right at all.”
I stifle a laugh. “Good God, everything about that idiom gumbo is wrong.”
“Who you calling idiot gumbo?”
A gentle warmth seeps through me as we quietly giggle. I honestly can’t remember the last time Knox and I sat together like this.
Our chuckles fade as I absently trace the edge of a morning glory bud folded up like an umbrella. The sky-blue flower lying in wait will open before dawn and die by sunset. A fleeting beauty. But come tomorrow, dozens more blossoms will pop to life, continuing the cycle until the bitter frost arrives.
“You’re lucky,” he muses, watching me. “You’ve always known what you wanted to do. Hey, remember that time I gave you a bag of dirt for your birthday?”
I smile. “Yeah. It was good dirt.”
“Only you would say that.” He turns his head back out toward the rippling wheat field and takes another toke. His expression grows serious. “Just think, in a few weeks, I’ll be a high school graduate. And I have no idea what I’m gonna do with my life.”
“You’ll figure it out,” I assure him.
He squints. “How do you know?”
“Because. I know you. You always figure it out. Eventually.”
We sit in silence, staring at the undulating wheat.
“I asked Mom not to come,” he says.
“You mean to graduation?”
He nods. This shocks me. Of the two of us, Knox has always been closer to Mom.
“How did she take it?”
My brother shrugs. “Better than Dad would take seeing her with her new insta-fam. Anyway, I told her I’d come back later this summer so she can throw me a big graduation open house party. Party planning’s always been Mom’s jam, so she’s all good.”
Rather than dwelling on the subject, I snatch the joint from his fingers to inspect it. “Talk about shoddy workmanship. Did you roll this in the dark? And what is this paper, wood pulp?”
“Hey, don’t bogart my wizard stick,” he mutters, grabbing it back. “And I didn’t roll it, so I take no responsibility for the junk packaging.”
“Where’d you get it from?” I dangle the question as nonchalantly as possible, like I don’t have a vested interest.
Another white plume puffs from his mouth. “Nunya.”
“Nunya?” I frown, not recognizing the name. “Who’s that?”
My brother snorts. “It means nunya business.”
The warmth of minutes ago drains from my body as a new thought enters my mind. “Knox.” I pause to level my voice. “Did you get that from Jess?”
He tamps down a flash of surprise before swinging his bleary, unfocused gaze to me. “Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t,” he says cryptically. “Like I said, it’s not your business.”
Cagey, evasive—this is not the brother I know. The brother I know is an open book, practiced in the art of oversharing. He’s hiding something. And judging by his reaction, I have a sinking feeling Jess might be behind it.
“Well, can you at least tell me if it came from Jess? Because, Knox, I swear that girl is trouble. And if you get mixed up in—”
“Stop, just stop. Jeez, Hon! I already told you to back the hell off. What don’t you get about that?” Annoyed, he puts out the joint on the bottom of his Converse.
“I’m warning you to stay away from Jess for your own good! She lies and screws people out of money.” I quickly amend, “From what I’ve heard. And besides, do you really want to jeopardize graduating by getting involved with…” I trail off as he listlessly flicks his lighter, watching as the amber sparks fly. “Why won’t you just listen to me?”
He sniffs and shakes his head. “I’m an idiot. I thought you could be cool with this, but of course you’re gonna lecture me. You live for that shit!”
“Knox.” I grab his arm when he starts to rise. “You’re taking this the wrong way. Listen, I know how I can be sometimes. But honestly, I’m only trying to protect you by warn—”
He shrugs me off and rises, face screwed up in anger. “That’s such a load. You do it so you get to keep playing the role of the perfect, good one, and I get to be the fuckup you’re always trying to fix. Same story. Different day. I’m out,” he mutters.
“Knox, don’t go,” I call after him.
“And I don’t need protecting!” He stomps off around the other side of the house.
I rub my face. Upset. Frustrated. But most of all, I’m afraid. Afraid of the countless ways Jess could outwit and manipulate my impulsive brother. And I would know.
Because she easily outwitted and manipulated me.
14
“This day is an absolute dumpster fire,” Zareen says, ferociously mixing the fruit at the bottom of her yogurt cup.
I should have dibs on the sentiment, but Zee’s gone and hijacked it.
“Do you know who I got partnered with for my chem project?” she squawks.
I offer a half-hearted shrug and pick at my food. My stomach feels like a cement mixer.
