"So then I told this stupid fucking bitch—"
"Okay, Tara. I get it, you beat someone's ass," I groan, climbing out of the car door, and slamming it shut. The locks automatically make a shuttering noise, indicating they've been closed. Emerging next to me with her hands digging through her shoulder bag, Tara huffs out a breath, wavy brown hair neatly swept to one side of her neck.
"That bitch John was really trying it with me," she huffs, hovering her index finger over her thumb, "I was this close to beating his ass too."
"I know. Good thing you didn't because we'd be put on the other side of the bars too. Next to your dad," I remind her, watching as she clutches a finger around her metal key chain loop. Side by side, we make our way up her driveway and down the path surrounded by a white picket fence. This isn't the first time I've visited Tara's house, but somehow, I'm struck with awe every time the soles of my Converses step on her perfectly tended lawn. Unlike the rest of the houses on the block, hers has a lot more windows, which are generally situated next to a row of quoins and underneath the eaves. Willowy branches and vines snaking around the lattice panels leaning on the side of the building. An easy breeze tickles the back of my neck and rustles the leaves stuck between the sewer vent.
Halfway across the brick track and she stops to pat the area around her midriff. With a look of confusion, she lifts the hem of her Polo shirt tucked in to reveal a sleek vape held to her stomach from the elastic band of her gray sweats. Steadily, she presses the end to her lips and blows out a cloud of burnt plastic smelling smoke. The fumes immediately clog my nasal passages.
"Since when did you vape?" I ask, pinching my nostrils.
Manicured nails tap on the surface of the device. "Yesterday. You want a hit? It's honeydew flavored."
"Honeydew?" I repeat in disbelief, snatching the vape from her grasp. What a weird flavor to turn into smoke.
"Yup," she confirms, twirling her set of keys around her finger. The jingle as the teeth clash against each other. "Try it."
"Um."
"C'mon, Lee," she begins, twisting open the knob of her front door. The hinges creak. "Don't be such a baby. One hit won't kill you."
She is right, one hit won't kill me, and to be honest, I've always been curious as to what it would feel like. Without much thought, lips attached to the end, I suck in a deep breath, and almost immediately, the artificial fruit flavored particles sting my tastebuds, poking their way down my lungs. Letting out a muffled cough, the remainder of the fumes exit quite ungracefully from my nose.
"Well?" she asks, unzipping her boots and setting them on a rack near the welcome mat.
"Bad," I mutter, clawing at the throat, voice hoarse, "never again."
"Suit yourself," she shrugs, snatching the Juul from me and pocketing it. Slowly, we make our way down the narrow hall and around the white leather furniture. "More for me."
From around the corner, I spot Faye carrying a red bucket and a towel. "You guys home already? That was fast."
"They didn't give us that hard of a time," Tara explains, looking at the contents in Faye's arms. "What are those for?"
Instead of answering, Faye gestures for us to open the bathroom door. Hesitantly, I do as instructed. There, with a trash can by her side, Halle sat cross-legged on the hexagon-tiled floor, arms clutching either side of the toilet. Leaning forward, she makes a choking noise, vomiting into the bowl.
"Jesus," Tara mutters, instantly reaching to pull Halle's shoulder-length hair back as she continues to barf. "What the hell happened?"
"I'm fine," Halle insists between her intervals of puking, "food poisoning."
YOU ARE READING
your best american girl ✓
Teen FictionLeighanna Chua has always struggled to fit in. Left feeling disconnected between her suburban community and her own identity, she's determined to prove that she belongs. But when Hunter D'Medici, a boy who embodies the very essence of privilege, off...
