Secret Lucidity(101)

Abandoning the remote, I walk across the room to where he’s lounging, lift his ankles and squeeze myself onto the loveseat before dropping his legs on my lap. “Tell me who’s got your attention.”

He lowers his phone. “Not a chance.”

“You’re acting suspect.”

“And you’re acting nosey.” His phone buzzes again.

“I’m a girl. Nosiness is engrained in all female DNA.”

“Is that so?”

With curiosity heavy in the air, I reach my hand to the underside of his thigh and jab my fingers into the muscle. I crack up laughing when he lurches off the loveseat with a high-pitched squeal, surrendering with, “Okay, okay. Damn.” He tosses the phone into my lap before dropping back next to me.

“Who’s Jen?”

“Some chick I met at a party last weekend.”

I toss the phone back without reading any of their texts. I might be nosey, but I’m not entirely intrusive.

“Just some chick, huh?”

“Are we seriously doing this?” He shifts and gives me a nervous smile. “I don’t have any other female friends that I spend as much time with as I do you. And as chill as you are, I’m not down with painting each other’s toe nails while gabbing about who I’m texting or whatever shit you girls like to do.”

“This Jen has you wound up,” I tease. “And to be honest, I don’t expect you to gab to me about anything. And while we’re on the topic of gabbing”—I look out the panoramic windows to the billowing smoke floating above Trent’s head—“is he smoking weed?”

Micah chuckles under his breath. “Yeah, why?”

I lean forward and look back at him from over my shoulder, stressing, “Oh my God. Are you serious?”

“Dude, relax.”

Turning away from Micah, I stare out at Trent as he takes another pull.

“Are you that sheltered?”

“Apparently,” I murmur. Back home in Texas, I hadn’t known anyone who smoked pot, let alone had the chance to watch someone smoke it. “Do you do it, too?”

When I look at him, he holds an expression of amused disbelief, as if my asking is completely asinine.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” I answer for him. “Where do you even get it?”

“From your little buddy, Kason.”

“Kason? Seriously?”

At this, he laughs at me. “Dude, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. Take a breath. Whatever afterschool specials you’ve been watching have really warped your head. It isn’t a big deal.”

I sit back and look to my new friend who is clearly amused by my reaction, and I play it off when I tell him, “I met McGruff once, you know?”

“Who the hell is McGruff?”

“The crime dog,” I exclaim. “He came to my school when I was in the fourth grade.”

His smile grows, and he slings his arm around my shoulders. “I bet you also have a framed photo of George Bush somewhere in your house, too.”

I thicken my accent for his benefit when I joke, “Right next to my framed NRA membership certificate.”

A moment passes, and when our laugher dies down, he surprises me when he says, “Don’t ever do it.”

I tilt my head to the side and look at him. “Do what?”

“Pot.”

“I thought you said it wasn’t a big deal.”

“Not for us, but it is to you, and I like that whatever conservative town you were raised in has kept you green.”

I smile, feeling lucky to have him as a friend. When he picks up his phone to continue texting Jen, I feign indifference when I respond to his previous statement, muttering, “And Kason isn’t my buddy. He hardly knows I exist.”

Trent bursts into the room, takes one look at the television, and groans, “Not the fucking Food Network,” to which I crack up.

Hours waste away while we hang out and watch television. I listen as the two of them talk music and skateboarding. They make plans to hit up a new skate park over in St. Pete next week, and I text Molly off and on. It’s a comforting feeling to simply hang out with these two and do nothing together.

The room soon begins to darken as the day fades, and I step out back where the pool overlooks the bay to watch the sun before it kisses the water. My bare feet step into the thick blades of grass, which are cool beneath my toes, and walk out to the dock where an impressive boat sits. Water gently laps against the fiberglass.

“Ady,” Micah hollers from the house. “We’re going to get takeout. You coming?”

“I’m going to stay and watch the sunset. Just get me whatever; I’m not picky.”

I sit on the edge of the dock, my toes barely skimming over the top of the water. The sky is painted flawlessly in burnt oranges and almost fluorescent pinks. Colors that burn so brilliantly above, I can feel their heat on my bare shoulders.

I snap a photo and text it to Molly.

Molly: I’m so jealous.

I smile, but it doesn’t feel good on my face, so I let it go.

Me: I miss you. Wish you were here.

Molly: You’ll be back here soon enough. Spring break!!!

I brace my hands behind me and lean back, tilting my head to soak in the last few rays of light before the sun submerges itself beneath the water.