Chapter 4 June 2001
“For God’s sake, Two-liter, would you come on already?”
Kent was in one of his sassy, over-the-top moods.
The ones where it felt like he was ready to rip the whole world in two with the might of his voice.
We’d been in the garage for half an hour, searching for a lighter.
I didn’t know what the heck we needed a lighter for, but he’d said it was “simply a must” as he held the back of his hand against his forehead like a dainty little thing, so I relented.
If Kent wanted a lighter, Kent would get a lighter.
We tore through toolboxes and upended his dad’s entire workbench.
After an almost-endless search, Kent finally shouted, “I found one!”
I turned around to see him holding a white lighter.
Kent took a step toward me, and I took a step back.
Then another. And another, until I was pressed against the garage door.
I didn’t know where his aunt had run off to.
All I knew was Kent Fox was staring at me with a look I hadn’t seen before.
Head tilted. Lips curling. Nostrils flaring.
Breaths coming out hot and heavy. He approached slowly, his eyes traveling up and down my body.
We didn’t speak, both of us lost in whatever this moment between us was.
In my entire life, I’d never been as scared as I was right then.
There was something in his hand; small and round, like one of those long, skinny cigarettes we’d catch Mrs. Fox smoking when she thought we were upstairs sleeping.
We’d caught her more than enough times in the last three years for me to familiarize myself with their shape.
Kent held it in the air, wiggled his eyebrows at me, and he ran his tongue across his lips, wetting them.
Wetting them for me?
God Almighty, was this it?
“What do you say, Gray … Puff-puff-pass?”
If it hadn't been for my eyelids, I was pretty sure my eyes might have bulged out of my head entirely. It was one those marijuana cigarettes Sister Thorpe warned us about at school. A gatekeeper’s drug, I think he’d called it.
She’d also mentioned something about peer pressure, which was when a friend tried to talk you into making terrible life choices.
I could hear my mother’s voice in my head so clearly, it almost sounded like she was right beside us.
If Kent asked you to jump off a bridge, would you?
I was ashamed to admit that I would. I trusted him with my life. With my heart. With my eternal soul. If what I felt for him was really as wrong as Kent’s daddy preached every Sunday at West Clark Apostolic Chapel—if my soul was already damned—there was no one I’d rather burn alongside.
“Aunt Jeanie slipped this into my pocket before she went to bed.” He licked his lips, leaving them glistening against the harsh, overhead lighting. “Do you trust me?”
“Kent,” I said, shaking my head. “We can’t.”
He smiled as he brought it to his lips. “It’s just a joint, Two-liter. Nothing to be scared of.”
“You’ve done it before? Taken …” I peeked around the garage, weary of nonexistent watchful eyes. “You’ve taken marijuana?”
Kent snorted, leaning his head forward, pressing it against my chest, and letting out a deep, guttural laugh that built up in his belly and poured out like a volcano.
“You’re adorable sometimes.” Reaching up, he squeezed the tip of my nose gently.
“I can’t wait to see how much more adorable you get when you’re high. ”
I swallowed. “It’s illegal, though.”
He rolled his eyes. “For God’s sake, Two-liter, we’re sixteen. It’s not like we’re shooting up heroin. It’s just a little pot. Fucking chill, dude.”
“I really wish you wouldn’t talk like that. You know it makes me nervous.”
He put the joint in his mouth and flicked the lighter.
The smell was strong, like a dead skunk on the side of the road.
He inhaled, breathing in a lungful of smoke.
Tilting his head to the ceiling, he closed his eyes.
His face was bathed in harsh overhead lighting, but it didn’t matter what sort of light was touching Kent’s face, because he would be beautiful no matter what.
After a few seconds, his smile widened and smoke pushed out through the small crags between his teeth.
“Does it hurt?” I asked, tapping my chest. “Does it burn or something?”
He nodded, his mouth forming an O as the last of the smoke escaped him. “Not too bad. The first time I did it, it felt like I was going to hack up a lung.”
“And that’s what you want me to do? Set my dang lungs on fire?”
He stared at me with an intense look I couldn’t really read.
“I want you to feel good, Grayson.” Kent held the joint out for me.
I wanted to grab it, but something was holding me back.
Noticing my unease with the situation, he smiled encouragingly at me.
“You don’t have to be scared. It feels really good. ”
I shrugged. It was all brand new to me. Even when Trevor and his friends brought home that bottle of wine Kyle nicked from his parents’ liquor cabinet, I hadn’t been able to push past my own fear long enough to take a swig.
I’d wanted to. They’d been acting giggly and silly, and I wanted to join them in that headspace.
Then I got scared. Scared of Momma and Daddy, but mostly scared of what God might think.
Kent walked toward me and put his hand on my shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “I’d never do something that was going to hurt you. It’ll feel good, Two-liter. Let me make you feel good.”
Gosh, I wanted that. I wanted his hands everywhere. Wanted his lips all over. But that wasn’t the good time he was offering me, no matter how much I wanted it to be.
“I’ve got an idea,” he said. “It’ll make it easier for you. Jeanie did this with me last time she was here. She called it a shotgun.”
He put the end with the fire inside his mouth, closing his lips around it. His hand cupped the side of my face, gently brushing his thumb back and forth against my cheek. When he approached, it felt like tiny little firecrackers booming to life inside of me.
His lips.
His lips were coming right at me.
I opened my mouth and closed my eyes, just wanting to soak in the moment.
When the end of the joint was in my mouth, he breathed in through the hot end, sending smoke misting over my tongue.
Kent had said it would be easier if I just breathed in and reminded myself that it was all okay.
I tried to do that, but it was hard when his hand was rubbing my cheek like that.
He was giving me deep, endless eye contact that tore through my defenses, leaving me still as stone.
His lips were less than an inch away, but one inch between us was still one too many, so I moved closer until we touched.
Kent held the joint between his teeth, but I could see the panic in his eyes.
He was about two seconds away from losing his marbles, so I pressed closer one more time, and then I pulled away.
When we separated, he stared at me, eyes narrowed, nostrils flaring, he pulled the joint out of his mouth and bent down, putting it out against the concrete flooring.
Then he smiled at me. Standing upright, he moved on me like a shadow.
We were inches apart, and still, he moved closer.
That smile. It was overpowering, and seeing him coming closer—watching the distance disappear between him and I—I freaked. I feigned a cough, choking on air like I was hacking up a lung. Kent went into protector mode, stroking my back as he tried to comfort me.
“I’m fine.”
“I’m sorry. Did I give you too much?”
“It’s okay,” I said, patting his hip. As I took a step back, my head went heavy. It was like the edges of my eyes were fuzzy, and my face felt like a pillow. I wondered if Kent wanted to lie on it.
“You can put your head on me if you want,” I blurted.
“What?”
“My face,” I said, grabbing his hand and pressing it against my cheek. “It’s soft and warm. Probably fuzzy too. You can sleep on me all night, Kent. I don’t mind. Honest.” Kent arched an eyebrow at me. “Or you can give me another one of those handguns.”
“Shotguns, Grayson. They’re called shotguns.”
“Whatever. Any gun. Whatever gun you want to give me, I’ll take it. It was fun, wasn’t it? When you were blowing me, I mean.”
Kent started choking, banging the side of his fist against his chest as he doubled over and held himself up with his hand on his knee. “Jesus Christ.” He slammed his fist against his chest a few more times before standing upright. “Blowing you?”
“The smoke,” I said with a nod. I didn’t know why the heck he almost choked to death, but I’d have to remember to ask him in the morning. “When you blew it in my mouth. Then our lips touched and it was almost like we were …”
His eyes widened again, and he took a step back.
Crap.
“Almost like we were what?”
I chewed on my lip just to keep my big mouth shut.
“Gray?”
“Like we were singing,” I attempted. “Your song. Just for you, Half-pint. Remember?”
His body relaxed a little, but I could tell he wasn’t buying what I was trying to sell him.
“I remember.” He pulled the lighter from his pocket and brought the joint back to his lips, sucking, pulling fire through the herb, the tip glowing bright and orange.
He pulled in a mouthful, holding it in his lungs as he tried to speak through the smoke. “Just for me.”
I wanted to bring a smile to that frightened face.
To make him light up like he always did when I sang it to him.
I took a step toward him, and then another.
He exhaled, the strong stench of skunk and rot wafting directly toward me.
I leaned forward, my mouth hanging open, and I bit at the smoke.
Sucked it in and held. His air. Kent’s air was in my mouth, giving me sustenance.
I pressed my finger to his lip, motioning for him to open them, but he just kissed my fingertip.