I nod. “Okay. Fine. Wait, why are you stopping?”
He twists his mouth far to one side, as though considering whether he wants to say what he’s about to. “This might sound ridiculous, but… I’ve heard that exhibit while high is a really wild experience.” With raised eyebrows, he points at the shop to our left. HASH TAG says the sign in the window, with a marijuana leaf drawn below.
Neil McNair, Westview valedictorian, just suggested we go to the zoo while high.
“Excuse me,” I say, fighting the urge to laugh, “I think you just suggested we buy some weed?”
“I have layers, Artoo.”
“We have”—I check my phone—“thirty-five minutes before I have to leave for my, um, thing. Not to mention, neither of us is twenty-one.”
“We have plenty of time for your thing and the zoo,” he says. “We’re right here. And Adrian’s brother works here. He’s always saying we should come by and pick something out.”
“Employee of the month right there.” But I have to admit, I’m curious. I’m not opposed to weed, and it’s been readily available at parties. I worried I wouldn’t know what to do with it, though, which stopped me from asking to try it.
“Wasn’t there anything you wanted to do in high school but never got a chance?”
That’s what gets me.
“Actually,” I say, because we’ve shared so much today already. Might as well show him more of my weird brain. “I had this list. This success guide I made four years ago that mapped out everything I should do before graduating. I’d forgotten about it for a while, until today. And I’m realizing I missed out on some quintessential rites of passage. Not pot, necessarily, but—other things.”
It’s a bit cathartic to mention the guide out loud. But what I’m wondering is how a friendship with Neil McNair fits into that list—because I’m pretty sure it doesn’t.
“Like what?”
“Prom, for one. I didn’t go.” Part of me wondered if it would have been fun without a date, without that perfect high school boyfriend, but in my head, the perfect prom was with a date who was deeply in love with me. Instead I wallowed in my FOMO all night, scrolling through social media while rereading my favorite Delilah Park, trying to ignore the twinge that felt like regret.
“You didn’t miss much. Brady Becker was prom king, Chantal Okafor was prom queen, and Malina Jovanovic and Austin Hart were nearly asked to leave because they were, uh, dancing too suggestively, according to Principal Meadows.” He rubs the back of his neck. “And… Bailey was really quiet the whole time, so it made sense when she said she wanted to break up a few days later.”
I knew they’d broken up somewhat recently. I had a couple classes with her, but she was always pretty quiet.
As though anticipating I might apologize, Neil adds, “It’s okay. Really. We didn’t have much in common. We’ve even been able to stay friends.”
“Spencer wanted to stay friends too, but we barely had fun even when we were together.” I heave a sigh, digging my feet into the pavement. It’s strange to tell him all of this, and yet I find myself wanting to. “In hindsight, the relationship was mostly physical. Which was fun, but I wanted more than that.”
Neil gives a little cough. “You two seemed… happy? You were together for a while.”
“Not the same as being happy.”
If there’s anything I’m learning today, it’s that every kind of relationship is complicated. Which explains why I’m here with Neil and not with my best friends. Their words hit me again. I’m not here because I’m obsessed with him—I’m here to finally end this between us. Only then will I be able to move on from it all. At least, I hope so.
“So many relationships are ending,” I continue, not wanting to linger on Spencer. “Darius Vogel and Nate Zellinsky broke up last week, and they’ve been together since sophomore year. I guess it’s tough to stay with someone who’s going hundreds of miles away.”
“Is that really what you think?”
I shrug, unsure of the answer, wanting another subject change. “Let’s go in.” Today’s already been filled with plenty the two of us never would have done. If I want to make it a real send-off, we might as well cross something off Neil’s list. That’s what Howl is becoming: a goodbye to high school and the boy who drove me bonkers for most of it.
Neil grins.
The guy behind the counter looks like a typical Seattle hipster, plaid shirt and thick-framed glasses, well-groomed facial hair. The lights are bright, and the counter is stocked with all sorts of edibles. Pipes in all colors and designs line the walls.
“Neil, my man!”
“Hey, Henry,” Neil says, and as both of us register that Adrian is there with him—“Hey!”
The Quinlan brothers are holding twin containers of food. Adrian waves us over.
“Our mom doesn’t love that he works here, but she still wants to keep him well fed,” he says by way of explanation. “And I’m dead, so. You guys still alive?”
Neil nods and tells him our plan.
“Sick!” Adrian exclaims. To Adrian’s credit, he doesn’t send any odd looks my way.
“Let me know if you need any help,” Henry says cheerfully, evidently not worried about selling pot to minors.
We browse the edibles and the selection of pipes, many of which look like works of art. There are caramels and cookies and lollipops, pie and gummies and even lip balm.
I am in a pot shop with Neil McNair. What is my life?
“Do you want me to ask if they have pot-laced cream cheese and a big ol’ spoon?” Neil whispers.
“Shut up,” I say around a laugh, though that does sound like it could be good smeared onto a bagel.
Neil taps his fingers on the glass case. “What would you recommend to two people who are relatively new to the world of marijuana?” He could not sound like more of a dork if he tried, oh my God.
“Are you looking for edibles, or something to smoke?”
“Edibles,” I say. Much less conspicuous.
He reaches inside the glass case. “A good starter dose for beginners is five milligrams of THC. These cookies are our best sellers, and we have them in both five- and ten-milligram servings. Chocolate, peanut butter, and mint.”
“What does it feel like?” I ask, not wanting to seem like an amateur. I don’t want to take anything that will make me too much not like myself.
“Relaxing,” Henry says. “It doesn’t completely turn off your brain, but a serving this small, it’ll just mellow you out.”
My ears perk up at that. Maybe that’s what I need to meet Delilah. “That sounds perfect.” We’ll go to the zoo, and then I’ll go to Delilah. I’ll be normal and cool and mellow.
We buy two five-milligram cookies.
Adrian wishes us luck and raises his fist. “Quad life!” This time I’m not quite as embarrassed when Neil says it back.
Outside, Neil bumps my weed cookie with his. “Cheers to questionable choices,” he says before we take a bite.
HOWL STANDINGS
TOP 5
Neil McNair: 11
Rowan Roth: 11
Mara Pompetti: 8
Iris Zhou: 8
Brady Becker: 7
PLAYERS REMAINING: 21
HOWL HISTORY: The shortest game of Howl lasted 3 hours and 27 minutes. The longest game lasted 4 days and 10 hours, causing future game makers to implement the Sunday graduation deadline.
7:34 p.m.
I CAN’T SEE anything. It takes a while for my eyes to adjust, for my other senses to balance me out. It’s warm in the nocturnal exhibit. Darker than dark. Something rustles, something scurries, something hoots. Shapes of trees, maybe a pond, slowly come into focus. This has always been my favorite exhibit, its eerie peacefulness able to turn even the wildest kids calm and reverent.
I’m a little far from peaceful at the moment, since we just barely missed a kill on our way into the zoo. Carolyn Gao was about twenty feet in front of us, exiting the noctur
nal house with Iris Zhou.
“Neil!” I hissed, but he didn’t react. I had to poke his arm. There was his freckled arm and unimpressive but still pleasantly surprising bicep again. “Seriously? Carolyn!”
“Carolyn…?”
“Carolyn Gao. Your target?”
“Oh.” He blinked as though waking up, though I doubted the weed had kicked in yet. “Oh. Shit. You’re right.”
Carolyn and Iris turned in the opposite direction, toward the zoo’s exit.
“We don’t have time,” he said, heading for the exhibit, and I reluctantly followed him.
We took a photo at the entrance to the nocturnal house, but instead of a green check mark, the juniors sent back a red X. “We probably have to go inside,” Neil said, which I guess was the whole point of those edibles in the first place. He insisted we’d be fast. That I wouldn’t miss my mystery appointment. He’d better be right.
A bat swoops by my head, and I stop so suddenly that Neil bumps into me.
“Sorry,” he whispers, but I can still sense him right behind me, the tips of his fingers brushing my shoulder as he regains his balance. Not knowing exactly where he is makes my heart jackrabbit in my chest. “Do you feel anything yet?”
“Not really,” I say, but even as the words leave my mouth, I’m aware something has changed. A laugh bubbles out of me, though nothing’s funny. “I—wait. I might be feeling something.”
My annoyance with him seems to float away, and suddenly Delilah’s signing doesn’t seem as terrifying. Thank you, Henry.
Delilah. I check my phone again—ten more minutes until I have to leave.
Indistinct chatter fills the exhibit as another group of people enters.
“What do you think you’ll do if you win?” someone says, not whispering the way we’re supposed to.
“Five grand is enough for a used car, and I’m so sick of the bus,” another voice says. “I know Savannah said killing them was more important, but damn if I don’t want that money.”
As slowly as I can, I turn around, and though I can’t see the expression on Neil’s face, I swear I can feel him tense next to me.
“Trang was camped out here all afternoon and didn’t see them. They have to be headed here soon.”
“I thought he’d be easier to spot, with the red hair.”
“Apparently not. Did Savannah mention who had Rowan?”
“Nope. Must not be someone in the group.”
We crouch down, and Neil leans in so he can say directly into my ear, “We’ll stay here until they leave?” His breath is hot on my skin.
I swallow hard. “Okay,” I whisper back.
This close to Neil, I can feel his body heat, smell what must have been the soap he used this morning, or maybe his deodorant. It must be the edible taking over my brain, warping this experience.
Savannah’s emissaries continue making their way through the exhibit, stopping every so often to take a closer look at something. I try my best to keep my breathing under control, aware that at any moment, they could find and kill Neil.
And then I don’t know what I’d be playing for.
Without access to my phone, I can’t tell how much time has passed. Two minutes? Ten? I have to get out of here, have to see Delilah, but the more pressing issue is this: we’ve been crouching for far longer than crouching is reasonably comfortable, and my muscles are not happy with me.
I stretch forward until I’m pretty sure my mouth is right up against his ear.
“I don’t know if I can keep balancing,” I whisper. I’m so close that my nose grazes—the side of his face? The shell of his ear? I’m not entirely sure.
He’s quiet for a moment. “Okay. As slowly as you can, come forward onto your knees,” he says, “and then slide your legs to the side.”
“Could you, um—”
“Help you?”
I nod before realizing he can’t see me. “Please,” I whisper.
A warm hand lands on my shoulder, steadying me, and slowly, slowly, I maneuver into a more comfortable position. He’s stronger, more solid than I ever expected him to be. Definitely no longer a twig in a T-shirt.
“Good?” he asks once I’m settled.
I try to exhale. “Mm-hmm,” I mumble. His hand leaves my shoulder.
We are extremely close, and that fact plus the drug plus the fear of being caught combine to send a unique kind of panic through me.
“I don’t think there’s anyone else here,” one of the seniors finally says. “Let’s go. Savannah can be an asshole, anyway. I want to win this for myself.”
I wait a little longer than is probably necessary to make sure they’re not only gone but far enough away from the exhibit not to notice us when we leave. Then I get to my feet, eager to stretch my legs.
“I think we’re safe,” I tell him, and when I don’t get a response, I interpret it as tacit agreement.
By the time I make it outside, the sky has turned a dusky blue, and the clouds are heavier than they’ve been all day. It’s beautiful, really, and I can’t help staring up at it for a while, waiting for my eyes to readjust to the light. Ah, yes, there’s the mellow Henry was talking about.
Then two things hit me like an electric shock, one right after the other.
Delilah’s signing started ten minutes ago, and Neil is nowhere in sight.
* * *
The zoo is closing soon, and I’m frozen in between the nocturnal exhibit and the main pavilion. I don’t want to send him a frantic text, so I try to sound casual. Hey, did you make it out okay?
I don’t think he’d ditch me. Would he? Maybe he’s still in the exhibit—but what if he got out before I did and one of those seniors with his name killed him?
I need an answer before I see Delilah. I can’t bring myself to leave without touching base with him. I’ll make sure he’s okay, race to the bookstore, and sneak into a seat in the very back. This is fine. This is all going to be—
“Rowan?”
I whirl around to find Mara lifting her hand in a wave.
“Hey,” I say, wary, but she shakes her head.
“I don’t have your name.”
“Oh. Good.” I sort of shuffle awkwardly from foot to foot. “Neil and I are still working together. I’m… waiting for him.” At least, I hope I am.
“He’s Neil now?” One corner of her mouth pulls into a half smile.
“It is his name.”
“You always call him McNair, or McNightmare, or something like that.”
Oh. I guess I do. I must have made the mental switch at some point without even thinking about it.
“It’s been a weird day,” I finally concede, but she’s full-on grinning now. “Where’s Kirby?”
“Dead,” Mara says, as flat as if she were informing me she got a B on a paper. “I couldn’t save her.”
“You really do get a little too into this.”
“Ahem, look who’s talking,” she says. “It was pretty wild. Meg Lazarski spotted her at Seattle Center, and for some reason, Kirby thought she could hide in the fountain and Meg wouldn’t go after her. She was wrong. So she got totally drenched, and she went home to clean up. We’re meeting back up at the next safe zone.”
It splits something open inside me, imagining the two of them having this completely different last day. But I made my choice—I’m sticking with Neil. If I can find him.
It doesn’t mean I can’t try to make things right with my friends, though.
“Mara,” I start, and because apologizing is hard, my teeth worry my lower lip before I speak again. “You and Kirby were right. I’ve been really selfish this year. I want to make things better between the three of us. I’m so sorry I haven’t been putting in the effort. I think maybe I was so focused on the idea of us I had in my head that I didn’t realize I actually had to, you know, try. I’ve… been a shitty friend.”
I think of that photo on my phone again. I don’t know when we lost that, but we have some time to get it back. Not t
rying is the only thing that guarantees we won’t.
Mara’s quiet for a few moments, toeing a straw wrapper on the ground with her sandal. “You’re being hard on yourself,” she says. “I mean, yes, you’ve been a bit of a ghost this year, but we’ve all had a lot going on.”
“You’re letting me off the hook that easily?” I say, and she smirks.
“I’m a lot harder to get rid of than you think.” She leans in, places a hand on my shoulder. “And we still have the summer. We have breaks from school. We have social media. We’re not going to suddenly turn into strangers. I can’t promise that we’ll be as close forever, but… we can try.”
“I want to make it up to you both. We’ll talk more after the game? After graduation?”
“I’d love that. And who knows… maybe Neil can come too.”
I lift my eyebrows at this, not entirely understanding. I’m not sure if Neil and I will hang out after today, but Mara’s being her usual optimistic self: assuming that because Neil and I teamed up tonight, we’re magically friends now.
“If I have any hope of catching you guys, I have to hustle,” she says.
“Good luck,” I tell her, and she jogs off toward the zoo’s exit.
AP Literature Group Chat
(Junior year)
Tuesday, January 15, 8:36 p.m.
Brady Becker
SWEET got the two smartest kids in my group
so are we getting an A or A+?
Lily Gulati
Brady, you may actually have to *gasp* put in some work to get an A.
so I already have a bunch of project ideas
I love ms. grable
Neil McNair
Sure, if you don’t mind reading books that won’t even be on the AP exam.
Brady Becker
@lily ur killin my buzz!!!
you don’t have to be a dick just because we’re not reading your bro mark twain
Neil McNair
Today Tonight Tomorrow Page 16
