The Loose Ends List(34)

“Oh, come on, you prudish imp,” Jeb says to me. He is so weird.

“Jeb, we promised Dad we’d do the telescope.”

“We’ll go down in a while.”

Janie and I run down to change. We get back to find Ty already soaking in the Grotto. Jeb sinks into the water in his grubby boxers. I jump into the steaming cauldron of bacteria and stray Pickle germs before Enzo has a chance to compare my boobs to Janie’s massive cleavage.

Ty pops the cork off a bottle of champagne and takes a long swig before passing it to Janie. Jeb leans on the rough deck with his elbows and rolls a joint from a plastic bag full of weed. Ty takes a hit. I’m next.

“Go ahead, Mads. You need to pop your weed cherry at some point,” Jeb pressures me.

But do I? Do I really need to pop my weed cherry at some point? There are millions, maybe billions of people who make it through life without ever smoking weed. Besides, it’s my brand. I’m Maddie O’Neill Levine and I’m popular even though I don’t drink, do drugs, or sleep around.

Overthinking. Probably with scrunch face. That’s what I do. I’m on a ship in international waters where even the ninety-year-olds are getting high. It’s weed. It’s not crack. Or meth. Or heroin.

I grab the joint from Ty and almost drop it into the depths of the Grotto. I suck on it. It’s disgusting. The tip is all flat and soggy from multiple mouths. Nothing comes out.

“Suck harder, Maddie.” I hear Janie’s voice as I stare cross-eyed at the joint, waiting for the tip to light up. I suck as hard as I can and feel the harsh smoke singe my throat. My mouth fills with a nasty taste. I blow the smoke out. My lungs are charred, but I go back for more because at this point, why not? I keep going back. Each time, my lungs fill up and I choke a little. It’s all very unpleasant, and I’m not even feeling anything.

“Save some for me,” Enzo says, moving so close our legs touch. I pass him the joint and watch him suck. God, he’s hot. Janie is on top of Ty, straddling him and giggling in his ear. It’s slightly fascinating watching Barbie and Ken about to rub their parts together.

Jeb swirls the water in front of him and stares at the foam as it rises and falls. I look up at the curve of the palm tree hanging over us. It’s as if tiny tree nymphs work all day making perfectly ridged circles on palm tree trunks. I want to invite them to a party with ladybugs and dewdrop drinks. I want ice cream. And potato chips.

“What is that annoying ringing?” Janie says.

“Somebody’s getting a call on their bee,” Enzo says. His hand is fully on my leg.

“Oh, shit. Come on, Jeb. We can’t be *s to Dad.”

I kiss Enzo just long enough to let him know I’m sorry I have to go do the telescope with my parents.

Jeb and I find Dad and Mom snuggled under a blanket on their balcony. I’m worried they’ll be able to tell I just smoked weed. I feel so strange, like I’m a hungry bug walking inside a lantern.

“You kids finally ready for some stargazing?” Dad’s obviously thrilled to have us here.

We take turns at the telescope. The sky is almost too cluttered to see the constellations. It’s like the palm tree nymph took two handfuls of glittery fairy dust and thrust them up toward the heavens, and then the fairy dust stuck to a universe-sized piece of flypaper. Dad can barely control his excitement. What would Dad be like if he smoked weed? I’m pretty sure Dad still has his weed cherry.

“That, right there, is Ptolemy’s Argo Navis, the ship of Jason and the Argonauts.” I don’t see it, but I pretend I do, just to make Dad happy. “And see that, right there? Can you make out the shape of the Peacock? That’s Pavo.” I actually do see the outline of a peacock. It’s spectacular. “There’s Eridanus, the River. If you hold the scope just right, you can see it perfectly.”

“That’s awesome,” Jeb says. I can’t figure him out. Is he only into this because he’s high, or does he need to get high to show his feelings? I try to remember if he ever talked more when we were little. I’m pretty sure he was always the kid in the background, chewing on his pencil and hiding his deranged sketchbook from us. But he was nicer. And we were closer.

I text Jeb: Have you noticed Mom hasn’t been drinking as much since that one night?

He looks down at his bee and texts back: Not really. Don’t hold your breath. I’m sure she’ll be falling down and pathetic again real soon.

I write: Can you just be nicer to her? Her mother is dying, douchebag.

Jeb marches over to Mom and plants a kiss on her cheek. “You look pretty tonight, Mom.”

“Thanks, Jebby,” she says. “I had my hair blown out up at the salon.” She smiles like the kid who got an A on the test everybody else failed.

I text: Was that so hard?

He gives me the finger.

We order pizza and potato chip sundaes. I’m sharing a spoon with my mother, and I don’t even care because I’m ravenous. Janie sends me a whole series of texts: We did it. It was amazing. I like him a lot. We can’t call him Pickle anymore. I’m sleeping in his cabin. Time for round two.

I’m delighted for her, but I will still call him Pickle.



The cabin feels lonely without Janie, and I’m lying here with a stale weed taste in my mouth. I’m not sorry I smoked weed, but I won’t be making a habit of it. I’ve also decided I will never say “pop my cherry” again because I despise the way it sounds.