Carter
“Yo, dude, you are the fricking man,” this long-haired sophomore Everett says as I hand him the three boxes of vape juice he requested.
“They didn’t have Strawberry Peach Banana Bash, so I just got you the Raspberry Dragon Melon. Hope that’s all right.”
“Oh yeah, absolutely,” Everett says. “I love dragons.”
I look around the school parking lot to make sure that standing behind my car is properly concealing us from any administrative
authority figures hanging around after school. “Though, I feel like it’s also my responsibility to inform you that vaping
is actually quite destructive for your health. But, ya know, it’s your call.”
Everett cracks up as he unscrews the top of his vape pen and opens one of the new boxes. “You’re fricking funny, dude.”
So Mom and Dad were right—I kept an open mind, and school has become a lot more interesting. I’ve found my purpose.
And that purpose is to be the fricking man.
Once Bodhi opened my eyes to the power of my state ID (when shown to the right people) (a.k.a.
NOT the scary lady at Buy Rite), everything changed.
In the span of three short weeks, I’ve somehow—well, it’s because Bodhi told everybody—become the go-to guy at Ridgedale High for all your illicit needs.
You want beer? I’m on it. Hard cider? Sure!
Vodka? No problem. Weed gummies? You betcha!
Or, in the case of this giggling skater boy taking a deep pull from his newly replenished magenta vape pen: Here, have some fruity smoke juice!
My condition means I have a special talent. Or, at least, something I can do that few others can. Which means other kids actually,
like, need me.
It’s a good feeling.
Bodhi and I have turned it into a quasi business. Depending on the request, people will pay an extra $5, or $10, even $20,
so that we can procure items that their age would otherwise prevent them from procuring. Or sometimes the payment is just
giving us a can of whatever they’re drinking, and that’s fine too.
I’ve discovered that alcohol can be fun.
I’m not out of control with it or anything, but after that first successful mission at Vespucci Liquors, Bodhi and I sat in
his bedroom downing hard ciders, and I was able to forget about the shitty reality of my existence. We just drank and laughed
and watched stupid videos of people puking after eating ghost peppers.
Since Lincoln’s back at college, I’m extra grateful for Bodhi. Without him, I don’t know what I’d be doing. Probably sitting
around like a lonely, depressed piece of human furniture. Instead, I’ve got Bodhi, and Robbie and Amir, and we act like idiots
together.
And earn some spending money by taking advantage of my special gift.
“You’re so lucky, bruh,” Everett says after a poorly aimed exhale that slams me in the face with a sickly sweet stream of
air.
“Why’s that?”
“’Cause you get to be sixteen forever. But with all the legal powers of being an adult. That’s, like, sick as hell.”
“It’s—” I’m about to launch into a rant about why the reality of what I’m experiencing is much closer to the traditional definition of the word sick than the one he means. But it’s clearly not what he wants to hear. And in some ways, I can see how he’s right. “Totally sick
as hell.”
“So jealous, man.”
As I get in the car and start driving home, I listen to a voice memo Bodhi just sent.
“Heyyyy,” he says. “Got a new request through Amir. It’s pretty dope. Some senior needs us to be the keg hookup for her party
Saturday. She’s willing to pay us fifty smackers! We’d just have to get two kegs, which I think they sell at Vespucci? So
it should be easy. Or, if not there, they’ll definitely have them at the brewery. That dude with the lazy eye loves us. And
here’s the best part: If we do it, we’re totally welcome at the party. I bet we’ll be some of the only juniors. Oh shoot, you’re a sophomore again. So that’s even cooler! You’ll for sure be the
only sophomore. I’m so hype. Let me know if you’re in.”
I nod and smile, as if Bodhi can see me or something. A party sounds nice.
I cue up “Old Town Road” on my phone and reroute the car toward Vespucci Liquors.