ZARA [On HOLD]

Smoke And Shadows

ZARA’s P.O.V

- ---Backstory Flashback--- -

Ava and I hopped off the school bus, with laughter bubbling between us as we headed home. Today was one of those rare, golden days. Ava's face lit up; her crush had kissed her right in front of everyone at launch, and it was all anyone could talk about in the hallways.

For me, they'd announced in front of the whole grade that I'd been awarded "Most Innovative" in out visual arts. Just hearing it lifted something heavy inside of me.

When we reached my house, Ava spun around with a playful grin, flicking her long hair over her shoulder. "Girl, I gotta get home" she said, flashing me a knowing wink. "My new boyfriend’s probably waiting on my call. See ya, boo!"

I watched her strut away, still smiling, before turning to my own front door. The second I twisted the door knob, the buzz from my day started to fade. A thick cloud of smoke met me at the entrace, curling around like it was alive, and dragging my good mood down with it.

Inside, I heard her—that loud, raw, broken cough—rattling in her chest, echoing off the walls of our small living room. The wet sound of mucus filled the air, reminding me of every cigarette she'd let linger too long between her fingers, of every puff she told was "Just one more."

My bag slipped from shoulders down to my hand and thudded onto the floor. I stood there for a second, watching her barely lift her head. Her eyes looked dull and lost in her own smoke.

The first few words that came out of me were trembling, like they'd been sitting there for years. "When are you gonna stop, mama?"

A tear sat on the corner of my eye,  holding its breath, just like I was.

__________* * *__________

Last night...

He pauses and shuffles in his pocket. "How you been since...you know," he trails off as he pulls out a read and white Marlboro Cigarettes Box, "that night at Ava's Party?"

I freeze, and my smile fades away. He pops a cigarette into his mouth and then flicks a lighter.

"You smoke cigarettes?" I ask, my tone sharper than I intended, but I don't care.

T

he air changed—just shutted down. The whole easy, fun vibe that I've endured since I came here—the music, the view, his performance, the cannabis, everything—dies right there, and hangs between is. My eyes stay locked on that box in his hand, those colors that bring back things I wish I would stay buried. It's like a gut punch, knocking me back to my aunt—her endless coughing, the smoke that swallowed up our tiny home, and filling it corner to corner until you could barely see through it.

And here I am, watching Jermaine, the guy I've slowly grown fond of from afar, just there with thay cigarette like it's nothing. He laughs a little, like he doesn't it, like this is just another joke. "What does it look I'm doing?"