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“Facts. He’s cute though.”
“He’s alright. I’m not into hicks.”
“Hey! I’m a hick.”
“You’re my cousin,” she giggled. “And my best friend.”
I nodded. “More facts.”
She made a heart with her fingers. “Forever and ever, it’s me and you, girl.”
I made a heart back. “You just spittin’ facts now, Shiloh.”
We laughed.
“What are they doing over there under the pier anyways?” she asked, shiftin’ my gaze to the group of football players, includin’ Jackson.
I shrugged. “Bein’ shitheads?”
“Do you smell that?”
I took a whiff of the air. “I do now.”
“Are they smoking a joint?”
My eyes widened, thinkin’ of Jackson smokin’ pot.
“Yeah, I think they are,” she added.
She was right, they were. It was right in his hand.
Before I knew what I was doin’, my feet were stompin’ their way over to him. Snatchin’ the joint from his fingers.
“The fuck, Grem—”
Crudely, I turned and walked straight to the garbage can. Tossin’ it where it belonged instead.
By the time I spun back around, Jackson was in my face. Roarin’, “What the fuck?”
“Yeah! What the fuck is right! What are ya doin’?”
“Mind your own business, Harley.”
“No! I will not! Why are you smokin’?”
“Why do you care?”
“Cuz your momma! That’s why!”
He immediately gripped onto my arm, draggin’ me a little further down the beach where we couldn’t be heard. Once we were alone from pryin’ eyes, I tore my arm away and gave him a piece of my mind.
“Why do you wanna be a stoner?”
“A stoner? Smokin’ pot a few times doesn’t make me a stoner. Plus, I got more in my pocket.”
“A few times? You’ve smoked before? Why do you have more of it?”
“How many times do I have to tell you to mind your own fuckin’ business, Harley?”
