Daya

Ziyah's POV

I sit in the desk chair in my room drowned in a hoodie covering my dreads as I roll a blunt to OutKast's Da art of storytellin' Pt. 1. My mom's at some special business meeting which means I'm going back to my old habits, of course there's other reasons for this "relapse," too. Inhale, exhale, feel good, that's how it's been for a nigga since I was 13 and one of Angela's past boyfriends handed me what I thought was some weird looking cinnamon stick. Thanks to that guy who if I'm not mistaken cheated on Angela like 5 times, I've stopped caring about certain things. These things include my older sister still living with us with a 5 years old and a photography job that clearly doesn't pay enough, and other things that just don't come to mind as smoke leaves my mouth. I guess this is why I'm labeled as some pothead which is fucking unfair, you do one thing and It becomes the one thing people see you as, annoying.

If I really stop thinking my mind goes to Daya scrunching her face when I accidentally blew smoke in it at that party. Maybe it's the weed that's got me all soft, but that girl is fucking angelic with her black Icon shirts ,coconut smell, and her big brown eyes she tries to hide. I wouldn't say this hallmark card shit to anyone, but you know a girl is special when she makes you want to stop smoking and being a fuck up just to be with her. Again it's the weed that's got me all soft, but I want to wrap my arms around her, too bad shit gets fucked up.

Interrupting my moment of thought the door swings open and Angela struts in like this isn't my room. "Oh my god you're smoking again?" She asks over the music and does her weird little run over to my desk after closing my door. As usual she's dressed a lot of zeroes over her check, and doesn't have any worry in her face just makeup.

"Nah what does it look like?" I blow some smoke in the air and Angela sits on the stool she pulled from under my desk. Shit she's planning on staying in here.

"It looks like you need a smoking buddy?" A big smile stretches across her face making me roll my eyes. I pass her the blunt and turn down my speakers which are the proper way to listen to music, not through little AirPods. That was one of the many things Daya and I agreed on. Shit.

"Aren't you supposed to be some responsible parent?" I raise my eyebrows and watch her seamlessly take a hit.

She laughs which turns into a cough as smoke comes out of her nostrils. "Responsible parents can't smoke?"

"Where's Sofia?" That's the real and only important question.

"On a play date."

"That's chill."

We go back and forth passing the blunt without conversation over my playlist. I'm not one for words or conversations especially when smoking with Angela who is the combination of a funny, dumb, and hungry high. Meaning every word I say is the funniest thing and she'll ask questions like 'why is there no such thing as a maternity test?" This smoking session isn't even all my sober ass built it up to be, and the good feeling that use to come is only partially there. After like 3 more hits I stop and scroll through my phone to see texts from Lucas.

Lucas: You better not be depressed about this shit, you know I got several girls in my contacts who'd blow you on da spot. Some of them have actual long hair

Me: GTFO

Lucas: Damn this girl and situation got you fucked up

I've known Lucas since elementary school and if I was able to see the future, and see his curly fry looking dreads, and this text I probably would've traded my yogurt with someone else. But the nigga had those chocolate covered chewy bars so who the fuck was I to object. Since then we've been friends, or really I've been his side kick who sometimes helps him get girls at parties. Being the person who helps him get girls I know for a fact I don't want any of his girl referrals.