Boy by Blake Nelson

Chapter 6

It was later that spring that Hanna decided smoking weed was cool. Lots of people smoked weed, of course, but in our group it wasn't the center of things, like with some people. But that was before Hanna and Claude got high, listened to music, and made out for three heavenly hours.

Since Hanna and Claude loved it so much, Grace and I had to do it too. We all went to the Westgate Pavilion one Friday and smoked a joint in Hanna's car in the under- ground parking lot. Hanna was very funny when she was high. She was cracking us up. I don't know how she did it; weed made me so stupid I could barely talk. Grace, on the other hand, couldn't stop talking, rambling on about whatever popped into her head. It got so bad Hanna finally said, "Grace, I love you, but I can't listen to you for another second."

After that the four of us wandered the mall. Then Hanna and Claude disappeared. Eventually Grace and I realized they had gone back to the car for some alone time. So then Grace and I were stuck walking around by ourselves. We ran into Petra and another girl. Petra thought we were laughing at her, since we were giggling so much. So Grace told her we were high. Then Petra thought we were funny and got out her phone and took our picture.

Grace wanted to make out, since Hanna kept saying how great it was. But there was no place to go, since Hanna and Claude were in the car. So we both squeezed into one of the cushy armchairs outside Nordstrom and put our coats over ourselves and played "where's my hand."

"Where's my hand?" whispered Grace, snuggling against me.

"In my pocket," I said.

"Where's my hand now?"

"Deeper in my pocket," I said. "Where's my hand?"

"Ga-vin!" she gasped, pushing my arm away. "We're in a public place!"

"Okay, now where's my hand?" I said.

"On my waist," she said.

"How about now?"

"Higher on my waist."

"How about now?"

"Oh, that tickles. No fair!"

"Does it tickle?"

"Yes, IT DOES. Don't, don't, AAAAHHHH!!!! NO! Stop it. GAVIN!!!"

I stopped. "Where's my hand now?" I said.

"No. It's my turn," she said. "Where's my hand?"

"In my armpit, where it's gonna get crushed."

"How come you're not ticklish?"

"Because I'm a boy and I have no emotions."

"Okay, now where's my hand?" said Grace. "No. Wait. Where's my finger?"

"On my chin."

"Now where?"

"My nose."

"Now where?"

"My muth."

"Does it taste good?"

"It taith all right."

"Where's my finger now?"

"In my ear. And it's wet. And that's gross." I twisted my head away. "Where are my fingers?"

"They're walking up my leg," she breathed into my ear. "Toward my special private personal area. Where they're not allowed."

"But they're still walking."

"They better not be walking."

"But they are."

"Then their little legs are going to get smashed!"

When Hanna and Claude reappeared, the four of us drove to Logan's house, where Petra and some other people had gone. For some reason Hanna decided to bury the hatchet with Petra and was super nice. Then we all smoked more weed and everyone got super giggly again. By the end of the night the group of us were lying on the living room carpet in the dark. That's when I began thinking about Antoinette again. I was still pissed about our conversation at the dance. I still felt the sting of her minion comment.

But I rarely saw her at school, and anyway, who cared what someone like her thought about my life? Her and her weird friends. As I lay beside Grace, breathing her silky hair, kissing her slender neck, running my fingertips over the soft skin of her shoulders, I reflected that my life was pretty damn good the way it was.