“You brought up an excellent point that my fellow Council-friends failed to consider.” Tonuto flashes that car dealer smile—genuine, sympathetic, deeply wise—as if he could fix all the world’s problems with a gently used Dodge Charger. “Why would we allow a stoner hangout to open on Main Street, next to your family clinic, no less? The low-life clientele hanging around, the fumes—have you been to New York lately? It smells like weed and halal carts everywhere you go.” Tonuto places a hand over his heart. “Are we really going to expose our sickly children to mind-altering substances like that?”
I point at him. “Exactly!”
“My Council-friends are taken by Ms. Wyeth’s promises, but I feel that other minds—cooler, more rational, moreconservativeminds—would feel differently.” Tonuto’s chin dips. “Ones you could find, say, on the zoning commission.”
The zoning commission…My eyebrows slowly lift.
“A well-pled zoning complaint can gum up the works for any new business.” Tonuto shrugs casually, as though remarking on the weather. “Does a cannabis dispensary classify as general commercial use? Hasanyone counted the feet between it and the local school, the arcade, the daycare? The zoning commission would appreciate hearing from you.”
“Hey, Mike! Wait up!” We both glance over to see Wilson Phillips, which, come on, that name’shilarious, striding over.
“Ugh, constituents.” Tonuto rolls his eyes playfully. “I better get out of here before I have to listen to literal cheese mongering. Consider what I said, Doctor. I’d support you every step of the way.”
With that, Tonuto strides toward City Hall’s side entrance at a clip, entering just before Wilson can grab him by the shoulder.
Nomi’s words curdle in my gut, but all herstudiesdo not change what happened to my family when my father threw away everything he had going for him—good looks, brains, and the kind of personality that drew everyone close. None of that mattered when all he cared about was staying home, smoking pot in our garage, and building models of our small town to rival that ghost’s inBeetlejuice. His hobbies and drugs drained his meager disability checks. Rather than getting back out there and finding something that could support his family, he let Mom work twice as hard while he withered to nothing in a folding camp chair.
The same thing is happening to Nomi. So smart and wry, so funny. So capable. When she clinched our win at the state championship after delivering the most awe-inspiring smackdown I’d ever witnessed, my heart nearly burst. I felt every emotion seeing her behind that podium that night. Wonder, pride, jealousy, happiness, sadness, and this inescapable, profoundwantingthat ran so deeply through me, it hurt. When we won, I hugged her the way Eve did today, spinning her around, as happy as I’ve ever been.
But then, she kissed me. Right there, in front of the whole auditorium, and blew my world apart. My vision narrowed to Nomi, just Nomi, and the exceptional futures we’d have together. We spent one blissful month tangled in each other’s arms. When she disappeared later withoutany explanation, then resurfaced at the end of our senior year paler and skinnier than before, smoking pot with that deranged Eve Ionides, it felt like Dad all over again. Choosing to wreck her brain and her life and all that we’d worked for, and for what? To get high? To leave me behind like I never mattered?
I slide into my car and blow out a long, tortured breath.
“Phone, call Dr. Sampson’s cell number.”
“Eric,” I say when his voicemail picks up without bothering to sayhelloor who I am. “Can you get addicted to marijuana after eating one edible? Er, two edibles? Several edibles. Also, how do you file a zoning complaint?” I grimace as I turn the steering wheel, reversing out of the parking space. Before I end the voicemail, I tack on one last question that I’d been saving up. “And what is your opinion onneti pots?”
I end the call feeling… if not better, a little more focused. I have research to do, an unprincipled pothead to thwart, and also the feeling someone may be following me. My eyes dart to the rearview mirror, where a purple Kia Soul, the most unhinged of cars, follows close behind. I take a quick turn without using my blinker, the abject lawlessness of it nearly killing me, but the suspicion’s confirmed when the Kia Soul hastily follows. From the front-mounted Grateful Dead vanity plate, a blank-eyed neon teddy bear head smiles at me through my rearview mirror. Dread prickles across the back of my neck.
Oh, no. I’ve angered thestoners.
“Phone!” I call out, more desperate. “Call Dr. Sampson’shome number!”
CHAPTER TEN
NOMI
I’m not religious, but when I wake up the morning of move-in day, the spirit of, well,something, enters my body and levitates me out of bed. I throw off the covers, unceremoniously unseating Big Bird by accident, and leap to my feet, feeling true joy.
I rush up the stairs and bang on Eve’s door before throwing it open. “It’s move-in day, bitch!”
Eve’s already up and baking in her kitchen, wearing a beautiful pale-green apron withThe food has weed in itembroidered in cursive, a present from me for 4/20.
She grins and proffers a beautiful platter of freshly baked scones, muffins, and the infamous hemp protein bars. “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day!”
I hesitate in front of the platter. “I don’t know… we have so much to do.”
Shepshhawsat me, then picks up a big, sumptuous blueberry muffin tinged the palest green and waves it in my face. “I used the high-energy Sativa blend—the one that made you clean the whole house two weeks ago and do your taxes. This is for our Wake and Bake menu.”
I grab the muffin. The rich, buttery flake makes me groan out loud. “Eve. This is so fuckinggood. You’re ridiculously talented.”
“Funny.” Eve smirks. “That’s what Julian said to me at the party.”
“Can we not sully this perfect morning with D’Asshole?”
“Fine.” Eve wraps up the platter to take with us. “But let the record show that my pot baking issogood, it turned Julian D’Angelo into a lovely person for one whole evening.”
“Truly witchcraft,” I mutter. Whenever I think about that night, a wave of angry, frustrated disappointment surges through me. Because Julianwaslovely at our Pot Luck. Kind, open, earnest. Hilariously scared of raccoons. I was charmed against my better judgment. Seduced by the sheer physicality of him all grown up with too much horny pot in my system. I knew what kind of person Julian was, and I fell for it anyway. It hurt when he woke up the next day, horrified at what we’d done.
