renegade - e. munson

chapter one: henderson's home

   "I THINK STEVE's got it this time."

   "Definitely not. He'll call within the next two hours. This is Claudette Finely, for Christ's sake. Stevie's going to blow it, big time."

   "You never have faith in our boy."

   "Because he's a major dingus at dating. You should see him flirt! Oh god, it's painful. Hazel knows!"

   I was in the middle of packing another bowl. "Hey! He's gotten better."

   The three of us were sitting on the deck. We were huddled in the middle, sitting comfortably on the light blue outdoor rug. My mom took a night shift at the hospital and Dustin was sleeping over at a friend's house to play D&D. With the house to myself I did what every eighteen-year-old girl would do. I called up my two best friends, rented a bunch of movies, and took out the stash of weed I had; sealed in a mason jar and hidden in my sock drawer for safekeeping. Robin and I would smoke a couple of bowls while Malia kept us company. She didn't like the stuff.

   It was a perfect night for it too. We were nearing the first day of autumn and the nights were getting chilly again. There was still just enough light outside currently to not trigger the streetlamps on just yet. The occasional breeze took the smoke away from our lips. I wondered if the smell of marijuana went with the wind. I mean... it had to, right? If the wind carried the smoke the smell should go along with it. Right? I'm way too high to understand the science of scent travel. I'm assuming there's a way to chart the speed of scent since you can measure the speed of light and sound. Smell travels. But how much wind takes away how much scent?... Hazel, you're thinking in circles again.

   "Better? Sure," The sound of Robin's voice brought me back to what I was currently doing. I went back to picking the bud apart. Robin was wearing blue plaid pajama pants and a faded t-shirt she got at summer camp a few years ago. Autographs from her campmates were written with sharpies and colorful makers all along her back. Her short light brown hair was a mess from laying on the couch and watching movies all day. "But-! Good enough for Claudette Finely? Oh, hell no. Pretty boy is going to get a rude awakening. He's going to see that he flew too close to the sun, unprepared, and his wings will melt and he'll free fall toward Earth - SPLAT!" She clapped her hands for emphasis. "The boy got too cocky. He's definitely calling us tonight."

   "Haz, hurry up and pack the bowl," Malia sighed. She too was wearing pajamas. A short orange shirt with an iron-on sun patch in the middle and yellow terry cloth shorts. She swore she wouldn't be cold out here, but I kept catching her rub her bare forearms. "Buckley's making Greek mythology analogies again."

   "Oh no! She needs more weed, pronto," But as the packer of the bowl, I took the first hit. I turned my back against the wind and flicked the lighter on, burning the leaves in my rainbow glass bowl. I sucked in, my thumb on the hole, and then took the flame away, and soon my thumb too. I breathed in and held it in as long as I could. I handed it over to Robin as I slowly let the smoke escape from my lips.

   I wondered if the smell traveled with the smoke – Hazel, not this again. Please.

   Steve Miller Band was playing loud enough on the cassette stereo system inside that we could hear it out on the deck.

   "S'mores," Robin mumbled the instant her lips left the glass. Her glossy eyes looked back and forth between Malia and me as she blew the smoke out. "I need s'mores in my life right now more than I've ever needed anything."

   "I don't think making a bonfire for s'mores is a good idea right now. Especially with your slow reflexes right now," Malia laughed. "But if Haz has the ingredients I know how to make them in the oven."