Smoke, page 14
We slow, nearing the end of the hall, where the marijuana smell intensifies. The air’s almost tangibly sticky with resin. My stomach flips and flops like his shoes.
“Ash, I have a confession,” I say as he comes to a stop.
He turns, puppy eyes widening. “You had a troll under your bed, too?”
“No. No, it’s…” I press my lips together. “Look, I’m not really here to buy.”
Ash blinks. “Oh?” Then his face morphs into panicky horror. “Oh!” Doubling over, he clutches his head. “Oh no! No, no, no!” He pops back up and whispers, “You’re DEA, aren’t you? Please, Lily, I can’t go to jail. I’m too delicate. I’ll get passed around like a bong in there!”
“No. Ash, I’m not—”
But he’s already dropped to his knees, hands smushed together in prayer as his eyes pinch shut. “Hail Mary, full of grace, uh…something…sinners and death.”
“Ash, come on, get up,” I say, pulling at his elbow while he Frankensteins a bunch of Catholic prayers together.
His eyes clench harder. “And deliver us from evil!” he fervently moans. “With thy daily bread.”
“Would you stop freaking out? I’m not DEA!”
He peeps open one eye. “You’re not?”
“No,” I reply with a small laugh. “I was just hoping you could show me your grow room. Maybe answer some setup questions.” Digging in my pocket, I pull out a fifty. “I’d pay you.”
Ash blinks and rises. “For real? So, all you want is the lowdown on my grow-down?”
I nod.
With a gusting exhale, he sags against the wall and claps a hand to his chest. Then starts to breathlessly giggle. “Dude, you scared the hell outta me. My heart’s beating out the back of my neck!”
“So, is that a yes?”
“Lily, today’s your lucky day.” His lips stretch into another full-toothed smile. “Because I happen to slay at grow-room setups. Behold!” Ash dramatically thrusts open the door.
My pupils contract to pinholes as the blinding light spills into the hallway, further amplified by the silvery wall-to-wall Mylar covering.
“Whoa,” I breathe in wonder. The room is NASA meets mad scientist.
I step inside, mouth gaping, and look up where repurposed IV lines dangle from the ceiling. Ash has turned the medical equipment into a hanging system for precision watering. My eyes wander to the wall, where a glowing instrument panel allows you to adjust everything from temperature and humidity to the timers on the light source.
And at the room’s epicenter are the fruits of his labor. A lush collection of three- and two-foot-tall marijuana plants, basking beneath their artificial sun. “You did all this yourself?” I ask.
“Yuh,” he says with a snort. “I’m a Ford, remember? Now hold on to your noggin, ’cause I’ma ’bout to blow your gray matter, girl.”
* * *
After close to an hour of having my gray matter (repeatedly) blown, I have determined three things about Asher Ford:
He is a grow-room mechanical genius. (Seriously. He even added a special device to his ventilation system so that all the outgoing air smells fresh as a spring meadow.)
He is a fanny pack–wearing germaphobe who wears surgical gloves anytime he comes in contact with dirt.
He knows jack about growing. Which I suspect has to do with #2.
When I pointed out the beginnings of leaf Septoria on a few of Ash’s plants, I was met with an alarmingly vacant expression. I then explained how nitrogen deficiencies are often a catalyst for the fungal disease and, left untreated, could decimate a crop. Which is really…I mean, this is Gardening 101.
Yet somehow, against the odds, Asher has stoner-savanted his way through each and every stage of the cannabis life cycle—from seedling to harvest. It boggles the mind.
Ash is currently explaining the electrical requirements for growing. My knowledge of electricity consists of inserting a plug in the wall and basking in the miracle that follows. So, yeah. I have loads to learn.
“You gotta check your service panel first,” he instructs, kicking his feet up in the folding-chair lounger. “Make sure it can handle the juice you’ll have flowing through it. Most houses have about…eh”—lacing his hands behind his head, he squints to the ceiling—“one hundred and fifty amps.”
I write in my notepad 150 amps, just as a knock sounds at the door. My eyes flit to his. “Were you expecting someone?”
“That’d be the pizza,” Asher replies. My posture relaxes. Right. I forgot he placed an order. After a highly entertaining struggle to free himself from the folding chair without flipping over, he shuffles into the hall.
Puffing out a breath, I reread my previous page of notes. Man, I am out of my depth. If only I could wave a magic wand and have the setup complete. That’s the part giving me the most angst. And for good reason. One mistake and—KABOOM! The whole greenhouse could explode.
Setting the notepad aside, I stand up to inspect his crop, instantly feeling calmer in my botanical element. The leaves of the mature group of plants have taken on a frosted appearance and look almost harvest ready, while the shorter crop still has another week or so to go.
I crouch to get a closer look. The swollen buds would’ve been twice as plentiful under my care. If the plants had been properly “topped” by shearing off the tip of the main stem earlier, Ash could’ve had two colas instead of one. And colas, being the flowering site of the marijuana, are where you get that primo densely packed bud.
Hmm. Studying the plants, I note a number of ways to improve their care. Adjustments in fertilizing, pruning, and definitely some larger pots so the roots can better spread…
“Lily! Come get your grub on!” Ash calls from the other end of the trailer.
But his voice fades, drowned out by my thoughts and rushing pulse. With Asher’s aptitude for mechanics and electrical, and my horticultural expertise, we’d be…a damn weed-growing wonder team!
I begin to reimagine the room. The twelve plants double to twenty-four. Or hell, even more with the available space I have at the greenhouse. The idea of a partnership continues percolating until my veins are bubbling over with it.
I provide a large, secure grow space. We share the crops. Share the profits. And I…will guarantee Ash that I’ll double his typical yield. Yes! This is a total win for both of us.
That is, if I can convince him to partner with me. Of course, there’s also the hiccup of not knowing who’s going to buy all this weed. School is a nonstarter. I’ve considered the pain clinic down in Forest Hills, but really, I’m getting ahead of myself.
First things first.
“Hey, Ash!” I bounce down the hall, fizzing with excitement. “I have a proposal for you. A brilliant way we can take your hobby to the next lev—”
My feet suddenly halt like my words. At the same time, my heart gallumps, going still in my rib cage. And I turn to stone.
“Lily!” Ash cries jovially, lifting his slice of pepperoni. Marinara sauce gruesomely collects at the corners of his mouth so he looks like the Joker. “Better grab a slice before this dude”—he gestures with his pizza to the guy at the table—“eats it all. I don’t call him Augs the Hogs for nothing. Augs, this is the girl I told you about, Lily.”
It seems I’m not the only statue in the room.
Knox has gone full granite. The pizza in his hand falls with a thwack to the paper plate, dropping like his jaw. “Honor?” he croaks.
Ash chuckles a little. “No, bruh, I said that’s Lily. Who’s Honor?” he asks before folding his slice and chomping into it.
Knox swings his narrowed gaze toward him, gritting his teeth. “The girl you told me about, with the ‘bangin’ brain who’s hot as hell’? You were talking about Honor,” he growls, flapping a hand in my direction. “My little sister.”
Asher’s eyes go round and large as the pizza. Then he painfully gulps the half-chewed bite. “Well…shit.”
Yeah. I couldn’t agree more.
17
“Knox!” I thunder down the outside steps after him. Noticing my bike in front of the butter-colored Pinto, he grabs it, hefting it to his shoulder. “I said I can explain! Would you—” I latch onto the back tire, digging in my heels as he drags me with it. But my injured hand screams in pain, making it easy for him to wrench away the bike.
He tosses it in the back of the truck. “Uh-ho! Glory be, she can explain!” he mockingly cries. “Which part, sneaking out after curfew, the insane charcoal around your eyes, or THE FACT THAT YOU’RE STANDING HERE?”
I swallow. “All of it?”
Heaving open the passenger door, he thumbs toward the cab. “Get in, Lily. I’m taking you home. You shouldn’t be here. And didn’t you just get suspended, uh, yesterday?”
“Well…” I look to the cement for a clever comeback. Wait a sec. My eyes narrow. “Aren’t you supposed to be on a senior camping trip?”
Knox briefly looks away, clenching his jaw. “This is about you,” he says, jabbing a finger at me. “Being someplace you have”—he shakes his head and sputters—“no place being!”
“Not to get all up in your holes, Augs,” Ash says, joining us from the sidelines. “But you haven’t really given Lil—I mean Honor,” he corrects, “a chance to explain.”
“Stay out of it, Ash,” Knox snaps, not breaking from our stare-down. Spine rigid, arms stiff, his posture stays locked like his gaze.
“Why are you so pissed?” I ask, baffled by his uncharacteristically explosive reaction. “You’re the one always telling me to break rules. Buck the system and live a little!” I add in my best Knox voice. “Yet here you are, in a hypocritical hissy all because—”
Then it suddenly clicks. Oh! That’s not what this is about at all. Gradually, the pieces begin to connect.
“The other night,” I say slowly, “when I asked you where you got that joint. You didn’t buy it from Jess, did you? Because you got it here.” My eyes lift to his. “That’s why you wouldn’t tell me.” Something else occurs to me, too. Something that made no sense until now. Ash didn’t stoner-savant his way through the cannabis growth cycles. “Knox, are you helping him grow? Is that why you’ve been MIA lately?”
He breaks our eye contact with a surly grunt. Translation: affirmative.
While my brother might not follow rules, he’s insanely strict when it comes to his own. And the first entry in the Knox Code of Ethics?
NEVER. GET. CAUGHT.
Sure, occasionally I spot him sneaking home late, but it’s not like I’ve got insight into what he does or who he’s with.
“Just get in the truck,” Knox repeats, jaw muscle twitching.
I put my hands on my hips. “So is it that you got caught, or because you were caught by me that has you so ragey?”
“C’mon, guys,” Asher peaceably implores, clapping a hand to our respective shoulders. “Let’s just go inside, mellow with some ganj, and talk it out or whatever. Yeah?”
My brother doesn’t appear to have much interest in any suggestion that involves me staying.
Stepping back from them both, I slam the passenger door shut. “I’m not leaving. Not until I finish talking to Ash.”
His brows rise in challenge. “Oh, really?”
“Really.”
Then Knox lunges for me. Narrowly ducking under his outstretched arms, I shout, “I said no!”
“Get back here!” He pivots, chasing after me. His Converse stomp in my wake as I sprint around the other side of the truck.
“This is bigger than your pride!”
Ash clumsily shuffles out of our path, palms raised. “Dudes, this domestic drama is a terminal bummer. Also the pizza’s getting cold, and the cheese is gonna sweat.”
“Honor, stop!” Knox hollers as I reverse direction and widen our gap.
“No!” But I’m growing more winded and tired with each lap around the pickup. “Not till you”—wheeze—“promise to listen!”
“Um, guys,” Ash says as we streak past him for the sixth or seventh time. “The po-po just turned down my street.” Our feet simultaneously trample to a stop as we look in the direction of Ash’s index finger.
OH. HOLY. HELL.
My brother’s eyes are wide with fear like mine. No doubt calculating the endless ways this’ll go to shit if we’re caught by the cops. His gaze darts to the door, and I can tell we’re thinking the same thing—Ash’s trailer’s too far away to take cover.
“Bushes! Go!” Knox hisses.
The three of us sprint and then dive behind the scratchy, overgrown juniper at the base of the mobile home. Knees and elbows knocking with our haste.
Ash frantically slaps at his skin. “Oh God! That’s probably from a black widow. It’s butt string, it’s all over me,” he wails.
“Shh!” I grab his forearm to stop his wild flapping, freaked he’ll blow our cover. His big brown eyes crumple in distress. Oh no, he’s going to lose it. So besides germs and dirt, I can add spiders to his growing list of phobias. No wonder he smokes so much grass.
“Ash!” Knox whispers from the other side of me. “Just”—he pauses—“I don’t know, pretend it’s cotton candy. And you’re at the county fair about to get on the Gravitron. Can you do that, bud?”
“I love the Gravitron,” Ash replies in a quivery voice. “It’s like space but not.” He gulps and nods. “Okay. Yeah, I’ll try.” Ash squeezes his eyes shut. “I’m at the fair.” Cupping his hands over his ears, he adds, “Tell me when it’s over.”
Peering through the gaps in the branches, Knox and I watch as the police cruiser slows. Our previously loud breaths go quiet. Quiet enough to hear garbled voices coming from the scanner. “Copy that,” the officer responds.
And after a moment that lasts a lifetime, the cruiser accelerates, turning off Asher’s road.
Our collective exhale nearly blows the shrubbery down. As we stand, Ash plows past us, manically mumbling something about the spider’s ass silk and his need to shower in bleach. The door bangs behind him.
Which leaves my brother and me alone, a sea of secrets between us.
His lips puff with a sigh of resignation. Then he walks over to the steps and plunks down, resting his elbows to his knees. Since Knox is no longer trying to cram me in the truck, I figure it’s safe to join him.
“So,” he says as I ease down next to him. “Guess now you know what I’ve been doing with my spare time.” Dejected, he picks up a stone, tossing it in the direction of the birch trees.
“How long have you been”—I glance behind us to the trailer—“doing this?”
Knox stares ahead. “Couple months now. Ash and I started hanging before that, though. First time I met him was at one of Stiles’s parties.” His mouth quirks. “He was smoking weed out of a banana, like a literal banana he’d turned into a pipe. Pot-tassium, that’s what he called it. Anyway.” The faint grin falls away as his anxious eyes slide to mine.
He thinks I’m going to tell. Or lecture him till his ears run scarlet with blood. But my brother has no idea that keeping secrets has become as effortless as breathing to me.
“Knox.” I put a hand on his arm when he goes to throw another stone. “I won’t tell. I promise you can trust me.”
“Can I?”
My heart bottoms out, and I swallow. “Yeah. Always.”
“What I mean is…” He hesitates, brushing the bangs from his forehead. “Me being here, helping a buddy grow rec weed”—he hikes a shoulder—“not all that shocking. But you…Honor, what the hell’s going on?”
The question holds no anger. No snark. No joke to take the edge off. Only genuine concern. My big brother is afraid for me.
And honestly? So am I. Afraid of what he’ll think. Afraid the path I’ve chosen is the wrong one. But also, I’m afraid there might be more Lily in me than I ever imagined.
“Please, Hon.” Knox grabs my hand. “Talk to me.”
I do the unexpected then.
And fall apart.
Crying for all that is broken and unfixable. For all that is outside my control. And in between the hiccups and sobs, I tell Knox. Everything. About Dad’s lost benefits. About how the bank is poised to seize both properties come August. About the shitty reality that we have nowhere near the amount needed to dig our way out of this chasm of debt.
“Hey, shh, shh,” Knox croons, his arm wrapped around my shoulders. “Why didn’t you tell me about all this sooner? We promised we’d always tell each other the big stuff.”
Brushing the tears from my face, my fingers come back smeared with black. “B-because”—my breath hitches—“I didn’t think…” I guiltily peer up at him.
Knox deflates a little. “Because you didn’t think I could help,” he finishes dully.
I nod, feeling the tears well up again. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“Look, I get it.” He hunches forward with a heavy exhale. “But like it or not, I’m in this now. Which means you’re gonna have to start having a little more faith in me, all right?”
“Yes,” I croak, throat tight with emotion. “I mean, I will.”
He nods firmly. “Okay, then. So lay it on me. Tell me the plan.”
“The plan?” I echo.
My brother sniffs. “Honor, in all your sixteen years, I have never known you not to have a plan. And they’re usually brilliant as fuck. So whatever it is, I’m in.”
“Good. Because I’m now realizing there’s no way I can do it without you, Knox.” Not just my brother, though. There’s another person crucial to this equation. “You think we could get Ash to help us, too?”
