The Fleeting Happy

Fifteen

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry. Oh, my God, I can't believe I forgot your fucking birthday. I'm such a bonehead! I fucking forgot my girlfriend's sixteenth birthday! I'm so sorry—"

"Hey, it's okay," I interjected. "It's no big deal. Seriously."

It was the Friday after my birthday, and the first thing Greene did when he saw me at lunch was start crying and begging me for forgiveness. Apparently, he'd smoked 10 entire grams of some new super-strong, THC-potent strain that made him higher than he'd ever been in his entire life and as a result, he'd forgotten to call me. He was too busy thinking he was flying on a broom somewhere in the Swiss Alps.

"Now that I think about it, the weed may have been laced with something else," Greene said, frowning. "Anyways, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry. I swear, man, I'm gonna make it up to you. Tonight, you and me. I'm all yours."

"That sounds great," I told him. "Seriously, Greene, I'm not upset."

Greene kissed me. "You're so chill. I love it."

I rolled my eyes. "Just don't bring Andy this time."

"I swear I won't!"

I know it sounds awful, but the whole scene with Greene made lunch a whole lot easier for me, mostly because things were still awkward with Montana. She stayed by Carter's side, avoiding my gaze and speaking very little. Next to her, Carter was being as loud and boisterous as ever. He kept blabbering on and on about how Montana was still fifteen (her birthday was a couple months away). With all his talking, I could hardly get a word in about how sorry I was for not telling her how much I loved her poem.

Surely, Montana couldn't stay upset with me forever. It was the kind of upset that wasn't obvious, making it so much harder to deal with. There was also the issue that I had no idea how to handle this problem. If I couldn't eloquently phrase how much her poem meant to me before, what made me think I could do it now?

Greene insisted on driving me home, saying that he'd spend every minute of today with me. It was nice that he cared so much, but I was starting to grow irritated by his constant presence. Clearly, he didn't understand that I'd meant it when I said that I didn't care about his forgetting my birthday. I was beginning to feel frustrated. More than anything, I just wanted to be alone today.

It had been a long week, but instead of taking a nap, Greene badgered me to put on a movie. I did, for his sake, putting on a DVD version of Shrek that I'd found, for no reason other than it was the nearest case I was able to grab.

We were only half an hour in when Greene reached into his bag to pull out a plastic container full of squished brownies. It didn't take a genius to figure out what kind of brownies he'd made.

"Seriously?" I muttered, only slightly annoyed.

"What?" Greene said defensively. "They're my special brownies! Try one!"

"Are you ever not high?" I demanded. "I know you can't get addicted to weed, but if you seriously can't spend one day without getting baked—"

"Fine!" Greene snapped, beginning to put the container away.

I scoffed. "No, do what you want. I don't care. You want to eat your pot brownies? Fine!" I aggressively grabbed the container, opened it and shoved a brownie in his mouth.

His eyes widened. To retaliate, he grabbed another brownie and shoved it in my mouth.

"Mmfgh!" I yelled defiantly. I tried to shove another brownie into his mouth, but caught the side of his face instead. Within minutes, a full-fledged pot brownie war had broken out.