Page 26 of The Last Special Thing

Through the apartment window, Madisson was waiting for them, perched on her knees on the couch. As soon as they made eye contact, she shoved herself off and bounded toward them. She flung the door open, letting it slam into the wall.

“You’re back!” Madisson wrapped her arms around Amelia, but Amelia’s arms were anchored by her side. She gave a slight nod as Madisson released her.

She couldn’t remember how she would have greeted Madisson if she weren’t high.

Wait, no, she was stoned.

She tried to remember how Art had distinguished the two.

She crossed to the couch and sank. Instrumental music wafted through the apartment. It must have been something Max put on. Amelia hummed along as she sat on the couch.

She took vocal lessons. Did that improve her humming?

Art slid next to her, his arm draped around her, but it felt unnatural. She dropped further into the couch, the weight of his arm on her shoulders like cinder blocks.

Amelia looked back at Madisson. Had she even said anything to her?

“Hi,” Amelia squeaked out.

Madisson cocked her head, then her eyes landed on Art. “Oh my god, you got her high.” Madisson’s hands flew over her mouth in delight.

Art’s lips were closed as he nodded up and down, then moved his head back and forth. He rolled his head in a circular motion.

Hunger tugged at the bottom of her stomach. Her chest felt heavy.

Was the weed pulling down her lungs? Was her chest attached to bricks plummeting to the bottom of the Pacific? Nowhere to go but down. Down, down, down, down. That was a Blink-182 song. She wanted to tell Art, but couldn’t find the words.

Giving up, she sighed and rested her cheek against his chest as he turned on a show. She couldn’t process the graphics. Her thoughts kept pulling her back to the ocean.

When enough time had passed that hunger no longer dominated her belly, and her arms swung freely, she asked Art, “Walk me to my car?”

“Of course.”

Crickets chirped along the way to the car, the moon lighting their path.

“So what did you think?” Art asked as they approached the BMW.

The day had been a complete waste. Spending so much time thinking about irrelevant things. What did it matter when texting was invented?

“I don’t think I like weed,” she said.

“Cool. Are you glad you tried it?”

She grazed her teeth against her bottom lip. “I’m glad I tried it, and I can confidently say that I never want to do it again.”

He leaned in and kissed her once.

“I think there’s a drug for everyone, maybe you’re a hallucinogenic girl.”

She laughed and rolled her eyes. “Fuck no to needles is the line.”

“Oh fuck no!” Art’s laugh reverberated through the evening air.

She pressed a parting kiss to his lips and slid into her car. He drew a heart on her window, then blew a kiss to her and sauntered away.

Amelia turned up the radio and discarded all the thoughts the weed had conjured in her mind. None of it mattered, anyway. Stoned, high, she didn’t care–she’d never smoke it again.

CHAPTER ELEVEN