Part 14 (1/2)

”No,” I said. ”I mean, I never have or anything...”

”It's cool. You don't have to. It's just that, uh”-he glanced at his brother, who was back into another round of the video game-”certain... things are really, really good when you're high.”

Certain ”things”? Did Nate want me to take drugs and have s.e.x? I didn't care if leaving would make me look like a dork; this was getting insane. I had to get out.

”I don't ... think I'm ready for ... certain things. I don't know, maybe I should just go.”

”No, no, I'm not talking about ... I just mean...” Nate seemed embarra.s.sed to have to spell it out, especially within earshot of Thackery, but he did. ”Making out is really good when you're stoned. It's more intense.”

More intense? If kissing Nate got any more intense, I'd be the one slipping into a coma. Ouch-I winced at my own thought. Way inappropriate.

”Not that you have to do it,” Nate said. ”At all.”

He meant it. I could tell. I liked that. And I really didn't have any desire to try ... mostly. Except for the part of me that was a little curious. Especially since for Nate it seemed to be a prelude to really good making out.

”What's it like?” I asked.

”Really cool,” he said. ”It's not scary or weird or anything. It's just mellow and ... nice.”

I reached out, and Nate handed me the baggie. I took out one of the joints. It had an odor to it. I recognized it as the pungent smell in the room I couldn't place before.

”Nice, right?” Nate asked. ”Do you want to try?”

There was no pressure in the question; I could see that. I could also see that Nate was kind of hoping I'd try.

And I was curious.

And it's not like I was alone. Nate was with me, and he knew all about this stuff.

And it's not like a couple puffs would hurt me, right?

”I'll try it.”

Nate rewarded me with a smile. ”You'll love it. We can go upstairs to my room; it's more comfortable there.”

”Your room? Nate, I-”

”Nothing will happen you don't want to happen. It's just ... quieter there.” He glared toward Thackery, and I understood.

We went up to his room. Nate hadn't lied: the rest of the house was much nicer than the media room. I wondered if he even spent any time up here. It was immaculate. Like a hotel room.

As Nate got everything ready, he explained how big a deal pot was to him and how seriously he took the honor of introducing it to someone for the first time. Clearly we had hit on another of his pa.s.sions. The only other time he spoke this much was when he was talking about music.

Nate seemed dedicated to giving me the perfect pot experience. He set up lots of pillows on his bed so it would be extra comfortable, then went to his Mac and played an iTunes party shuffle he had created specifically for times like this. Music, he said, totally made the experience. His computer had surround-sound speakers, so the whole room would reverberate. Visually, he said, it was important to have something interesting but not too complicated to look at, so he turned the flat-screen TV/monitor on his wall to a multicolored lightning-bolt screen saver.

Nate darted downstairs to get some water and snacks in case I got thirsty or hungry afterward. He wasn't gone long-just enough for me to look around and confirm my first impression. It was like a hotel room: no pictures, no books, no random personal things like my Tastykakes and mini Liberty Bell.

When Nate came back, he turned down the lights and sat next to me on the bed. ”I'll get it started,” he said, ”then I'll pa.s.s it to you.”

I nodded.

He lit one of the joints, then sucked in several times as the now-familiar acrid smell filled the air. Then he took in a big breath. He explained what he was doing, and I tried not to laugh. He was working so hard to keep in his breath while he spoke, he sounded like he was on helium.

”You breathe it in, then you hold the smoke in your lungs for a bit before...”

With a whoosh he blew it out.

”Now your turn.” He handed it over. ”You might cough but try not to. Try to keep it in.”

I did what he said. I sucked in deeply and almost fell into a coughing fit, but I didn't. The smoke burned in my lungs. It hurt. I held in the smoke as long as I could, then let it go in a rush. There, I was done. I handed the joint back to Nate.

”Okay, I tried it,” I said. ”Now do we get to the really-good-making-out part?”

”A couple more hits,” he said. ”Just to make sure you get the full experience.”

I thought I'd already had the full experience, and I didn't like it at all, but maybe I needed to give it more of a chance. If Nate loved it so much, there had to be something else there. And if not, if this really was the only time I'd ever smoke pot, I figured I should at least do it the right way.

I took the joint back from Nate and sucked in again, long and deep, then suffered through one more round pa.s.sing it back and forth.

”Are we good now?” I asked.

Nate took another long pull, held it in, then let it out. ”Yeah.”

He leaned down to kiss me, and for a minute it felt amazing all over again...

But then I couldn't kiss him back.

It was weird. I wanted to. I was kind of dying to. Or at least I had been. But now I pulled out of his arms entirely. Now I just really wanted to lean back, shut my eyes, and listen to the music.

And grin.

It felt like I had a huge goofy grin on my face. I had no control over it. None whatsoever. And I couldn't control my body. I couldn't move. Not my arms, not my legs, not my head, not at all. I couldn't talk either.

It wasn't pleasant. It was terrifying. I was lying in a strange guy's bed! He could do anything, and I couldn't stop him. My heart started racing as I envisioned all the horrible things that could happen to me in this strange house with no parents and no rules and no one to care if I screamed, which I couldn't, even if I wanted to.

Nate's voice came to me as if through ten feet of water.

”Cara? Cara?”

Inside my head I screamed for help, but my body wouldn't respond.

I heard a chuckle through the ten feet of water. ”Wow ... you are so high.” He tucked the comforter of the bed around me and leaned down to whisper in my ear. ”Enjoy it,” he said.

I felt him lean back on the pillows, and heard him open a bag. The smell was intense: potato chips. I felt very alone, stuck inside my head next to him. But then he reached over to gently pet my forehead and hair, over and over.

It was nice.