My Ex Is Smokin'!

It was just an average May Wednesday for me- Brooke. Senior in a public high school. And as an average day for a senior dictates, I was going to the deli with my two best friends (Tess, who I've known since third grade, and Callie, who I met at the beginning of the summer and somehow managed to befriend) who shared my same lunch hour. I opted to drive since I got a crappy parking spot earlier that morning and wanted to steal someone else's space upon returning. I had just started going to the deli recently, as opposed to Tropical smoothie whom I loyally visited- Jetty Punch or Peaches 'n' Silk- based off of the fact that I had an unusual craving for a half-n-half. I had that same craving on this very afternoon and demanded that my friends come with me. They didn't object. The three of us walked past the gym and out into the Senior parking lot after a quick stop at Callie's locker. We trudged to the back of the lot in the growing chill.

"Cover me?" Tess asked once we got closer to my car. Callie and I shared a look before moving to stand between our short friend and the security guard further down by the exit. We, once again, successfully snuck Tess into my back seat. It wasn't that Tess didn't have the privilege to go out during lunch or off periods- it was that she didn't have her ID. That was something that security snapped down on really hard this year- especially after the Sandy Hook elementary school shooting earlier in the year- each ID got a little pink sticker after a signed note from a parent was given to administration. Tess had the form but didn't find the time to get her ID stickered, and then eventually lost her ID somewhere in her bottomless room. I wasn't going to be having a senior year in which my best friend and I couldn't go out for lunch! So every time we went out, I would have her climb into my trunk and pull the cover over the space. There- no harm, no big deal- the security guard would never know. After Callie (who always rode shotgun) and I flashed our IDs, I rolled up my window and she muttered, "Go really fast." A smile spread across my face and I nodded, understanding what she meant. I pressed my foot on the gas pedal hard as we neared a speed bump.

"No, no, AH!" Tess shrieked. In my rearview mirror I saw the soft flap covering the trunk pop up where her head had hit it. Callie and I snickered while I continued driving and an angry looking Tess clambered over into the backseat.

"I hate you guys," she scowled while fixing her top.

"Get your ID and we wouldn't have to do that to you," Callie countered. I stopped at the red light and flicked on my left signal. I'm not sure what sparked this, maybe it was me just saying random things like I sometimes do, but I bought up this funny post that I had seen and reblogged on Tumblr.

"So I saw this post on Tumblr and I thought of you, Tess," I turn to look at her.

"Yeah? Why's that?" She responded, not glancing up from her phone.

"It was titled '36 Ways To Say No To Pot and Still Remain Cool'." I had Tess' full attention now. See, we weren't popular or wild- we had never been to a party and never done drugs (not even weed)- but we talked like we were; like we had a clue what it was like to really be drunk, or like we were drug king pins. Our first time drinking (other than 'champagne once at my cousin's wedding' (Grease)) was in tenth grade with another friend. Our parents had gone to Pottery Barn and we asked ourselves 'If everyone else can do it, why can't we?', thus leading to the three of us bounding up my stairs and doing vodka shots while listening to LMFAO's 'Shots' (Yeah, so I'm more adventurous, unafraid, cool and rule breaker. I drank straight vodka while they mixed it up with some OJ from the 'fridge).

Either way, I started saying some of the rejections from the post, "'No way! I'm not a hippie, man!'" Callie and Tess giggled, "I don't remember the rest, but this other one reminded me of you; 'Get away from me you ganja gremlin!'" Tess had a dramatic fear of gremlins (I did too if it was dark outside). The three of us laughed. Somehow we continued talking about pot when I let loose a moan and fluttered my eyes, "Ugh, I love the smell of pot. So sweet and consuming." If I didn't smoke how did I know what it smelled like? Because when I was in eighth grade my mother and I went to a Grateful Dead concert where everyone was drunk or high or both. I was terrified and entranced all at the same time. While there, a random boy, maybe a year older than me, grabbed my attention and asked if I wanted to go smoke a joint with him in the parking lot. I was horrified! I had never heard or come in contact with anything like this! I sputtered out my refusal and clung to my mom. The next day I went to school reeking of weed- but secretly loving it.