White Smoke

by Tiffany D. Jackson

“Oh, yeah. I’m fine,” I say, faking a laugh. “Um, you’re pretty good at that music stuff.”

  He grins. “For real? You think?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure your dad is, like, hella proud of you!”

  Yusef’s smile dims as he averts his eyes to sip his drink.

  Damn, Mari, foot in your mouth much?

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . . well. I was just saying . . .”

  “It’s cool,” he says, waving it off. “I actually saw him today.”

  “Really? How is he?”

  He shrugs. “The same. He got his whole squad up in there with him, so it’s not like he’s missing much. Except being with his family. But maybe someday he’ll get to see for himself how good I am.”

  “He will,” I assure him. Knowing how close I am with my dad makes me want that so badly for him.

  “Heyyyyy! You made it!” Erika bursts through the crowd. Eyes low, grin wide. “What up doe!” She dances in our direction, cup in hand.

  I laugh. “What’s up?”

  “This party is lit, Yuey,” she sings. “Glad they gave the kid a chance.”

  “Yuey?” I repeat, raising an eyebrow at him.

  Yusef groans. “Bruh, for the thousandth time, stop calling me that!”

  Erika shrugs and slips a blunt from behind her ear, sticking it between her lips before lighting up, the sweet and tangy smoke puffing around us. My mouth waters. It’s almost pornographic how good she makes it look.

  Erika notices me staring and smiles. “You want a hit?”

  Tongue pulsing, I lean toward her. Yusef waves smoke out of his face.

  “Nah, E, chill. She’s not into that.”

  Erika purses her lips at him. “Did she tell you that?”

  Yusef glances at me, as if to say, “Back me up here.” And I can’t. Because there’s nothing I want more.

  “So? You want a hit or nah?” Erika asks.

  My eyes toggle between the offered spliff and Yusef. He crosses his arms, eyes focused on me, and although I shouldn’t care what he thinks, it’s hard not to when his judgment is swallowing up all the air in the room.

  “Um, yeah,” I say, a little too eagerly. “I mean, sure, why not.”

  I grab the spliff, inhale hard, letting the smoke take up every corner of my lungs before exhaling with an “ahhh.” It hasn’t even had a chance to work through my system, but just having it in my hand makes me feel whole again.

  Yusef snarls. “Yo, you really fuck with that shit?”

  “It’s just a little weed,” I say with a shrug. “No big deal.”

  “No big deal?” he shouts. “Tell that to everybody up in Big Ville!”

  His bitterness is a cold slap in the face. I want to say something, defend myself, but nothing comes up.

  “Yuey, chill,” Erika says. “Why are you coming for her neck?”

  Yusef shakes his head, slamming his cup on the cracked counter. “I gotta get back,” he says dryly. “Later.”

  He storms away, disappearing into the crowd without a second glance. Erika waves him off.

  “Don’t sweat it, he’ll get over it. Big-ass sensitive baby.”

  “Right,” I mumble, taking another hit to ease the guilt.

  Okay, I know what you’re thinking. I still don’t know Erika that well and I shouldn’t be smoking at all and Yusef may never speak to me again, even though he’s been hella cool . . . but right now, after everything that’s happened the last few weeks, I need this hit more than anything.

  I take another pull, letting myself float into outer space. The party light-years away.

  Erika and I find a corner to post up, still in view of Yusef. He looks good. Really good.

  Shit. Hope I didn’t say that aloud.

  “I’m . . . hungry,” I mumble, licking my lips.

  Erika turns to me, her eyes low. “Yo, do you realize that we have eggs inside us and lay eggs like chickens every month? We ain’t nothing but some birds. Being a chick is some wild shit, bruh.”

  I stare at her and blink before a fit of giggles bubbles up. “Dude, what? Where did that come from?”

  “You said you were hungry. And I want a steak and eggs. Hey, pass that roach.”

  I hand over the blunt and sigh, letting my body dissolve into the wall. I wasn’t always this way, this desperate, this thirsty, the type of person who needed weed to maintain some sense of sanity. I can remember everything before we had bedbugs. Before every speck of dirt made me do a double take. I was once a normal kid, with normal cravings, like a casual drinker. But weed, it lifts the heavy anxiety that blankets all my thoughts and for the briefest of moments, I feel free of it all. No fixation or paranoia, no questions. Light as a feather, I float and keep floating . . . until I no longer notice life crumbling around me. Once you have a taste of that feeling, once you experience it, you’ll find yourself chasing after it for the rest of your life.

  I’m going to sleep so damn good tonight.

  That’s all I can think as I stretch into a T-shirt and joggers. I can tell just by the way my muscles have loosened off the bones, the weed is deep in my system. It wasn’t the best weed I’ve ever had, but you know that moment when you’ve been starving for hours and you have some chicken, and you don’t know if it’s the best chicken you ever had in your entire life or you were just really hungry? It’s like that. Not that I eat chicken. Thinking of chickens . . . I stifle a giggle.

  Erika is fun! We definitely need to be besties.

  Buddy is sleeping with Sammy tonight, so I have the whole bed to myself. I click on the space heater and slip under my comforter. Why does everything feel so good when you’re high? These cotton Target Essentials sheets are like Egyptian silk.

  Still can’t shake Yusef’s expression out of my head, but this is the best I’ve felt since moving to Cedarville. Well, I guess that’s not all the way true. I would’ve had fun tonight at the party regardless. It was good to be . . . normal for a change. Think I’ll ask Erika for her connect tomorrow. I can’t wait on my secret garden any longer.

  With the weed baking me, I close my eyes and doze off within seconds. But it’s the teeth chattering in my mouth that wakes me up, like my brain went off-roading. The room still dark, now cold enough to see my own breath as I let out a groan.

  That blunt should’ve knocked me out for hours. How the hell . . . shit, it’s freezing!

  My blurry eyes strain to adjust to the dark as I pat around me. The comforter is gone, goose bumps riddle my arms, feet are blocks of ice. I sit up, my head heavy. The door is open, a draft of cold air blowing in.

  And there’s a man standing in the corner near my closet.

  He’s facing the wall, head down as if in old-school punishment. If it wasn’t so sparse in the room, I wouldn’t have noticed him. In my haze, he would’ve been just another shadow among shadows. Except for the fact that he’s fisting the end of my comforter.

  I blink twice, rubbing my eyes. He’s still there, shivering, mumbling, head twitching every few seconds. The room drops to negative twenty.

  I turn away, sitting so still I can be mistaken for a piece of furniture.

  This isn’t happening. This is a trip. I’m tripping. Another crazy-ass dream.

  But do dreams have such a violent smell?

  It’s the funk of forty thousand years that Michael Jackson song warned us about. I hold in a gag, my neck muscles clenching tight. I need to get out of here, but I don’t want him to know I’m awake. I don’t want him to look at me because one look will eviscerate this numbness and I’ll scream.

  Gently, I place one foot on the floor, then the other. Doing everything I can to control my breathing, I calmly walk out of the room, as if I don’t see him, as if he’s invisible, because that’s exactly what he is. A hallucination, an apparition. And if we just ignore each other, maybe he’ll go away.

  I step out into the hallway, phone trembling in my hand, back rod straight.

  “It’s just a dream,” I whisper, closing my
eyes.

  This is what you do. You see things that aren’t there. It’s been a while since you’ve smoked. You’re out of practice.

  But I can still hear him muttering.

  “Just a dream,” I breathe. “Ground yourself. Ready?”

  1) Piper’s unicorn door sign I want to shred into a billion pieces.

  2) Stairs . . . that lead to the door, where I want to run straight through, out of the house, back to California.

  The mumbling stops. The house falling silent. But I can still smell him, and I can’t force myself to move.

  3) The rug Mom bought online.

  4) The attic door. . . .

  Footsteps, heavy and staggering, echo out of the room, charging in my direction. My stomach lurches and I hold both hands over my mouth to keep from screaming.

  Mari, wake up, wake up, wake up! Please please please!

  The bedroom door slams shut behind me and I jump twelve feet in the air.

  Draft. Just the draft, the wind. That’s all. The door always closes on its own.

  But why can I still smell him?

  Mom and Alec’s door remains closed. It didn’t wake them up. If it did, they’d take one look at me and know I’m high. They’d never believe that some strange man has taken over my bedroom. They won’t even bother to look. So I tiptoe into the bathroom and dial the only person I can think who would.

  “Yeah?” Yusef snaps; his voice is groggy and horse.

  “Okay, okay, I know you’re all mad at me and stuff,” I whisper, sliding down into the tub. “But can you come over?”

  “Girl, do you know what time it is?”

  I know what I’m about to say is going to make me sound crazy before I even say it, but I say it anyways.

  “There’s . . . there’s a man in my room.”

  “A what?”

  “Or a something,” I babble. “Maybe a demon. It’s in the corner, holding my blanket.”

  Yusef sighs. “See, and this is why you should stay away from that shit.”

  “Can we skip the ‘I told you so’ speech for five seconds because the killer is literally standing in my room and I’m scared.”

  Yusef takes a deep breath, sheets rustling. “Cali, it’s just your imagination. I shouldn’t have told you that stuff about the Hag. It got you seeing things.”

  “I’m not lying. I swear.”

  “Where are your folks?”

  “Are you crazy! I can’t wake them up. They’ll know and they’ll flip. I’ll get in so much trouble.”

  Even as I say it, I realize losing my freedom is scarier than the stranger in my bedroom.

  “Okay, okay. So where you at now?”

  “Um . . . in the bathroom.”

  “Did you hear anyone . . . or the ‘thing’ come out of your room yet?”

  I listen to the house breathe. Nothing but silence. “No.”

  “Did you close the door?”

  “No. It closed on its own.”

  “Hm. Okay, you got a pen and piece of paper handy?”

  “Um, I can get some. But why?”

  “Okay. Here’s what you do: get a piece of paper and draw a happy face.”

  “A what?”

  “Draw a happy face.”

  “This isn’t funny, Yusef,” I snap. “There’s some deranged lunatic in my bedroom and you’re making jokes?”

  “Who’s joking?” he says, an edge in his voice. “Especially not at three thirty in the damn morning when I just got in bed and have two houses to work on tomorrow. So you want my help or nah?”

  I chew on my bottom lip and stumble out into the hallway, grabbing a pen and pink Post-it note off the console.

  “Okay, now what,” I whisper, drawing a quick face. Can’t believe I’m even doing this.

  “All right, slip that paper under the door.”

  “What? Why?”

  “’Cause demons hate anything happy, it’ll scare it off. Then, in the morning, when you sober up and go to your room, you’ll find something silly to greet and remind you that this was all just a bad dream.”

  I freeze for a few beats until a giggle escapes my lips.

  “Uh-oh, was that a laugh?” Yusef says with a chuckle.

  “No, you’re hearing things.” I sigh. “I’m being ridiculous, aren’t I?”

  “Nah. You just need to drink some water and sleep that shit off. But . . . glad you came to the party tonight. You looked . . . happy.”

  “Don’t I always look happy?”

  “Nah, not really.”

  “Damn,” I huff, pressing my lips together. Do I really look that miserable here? “Well, um, thanks for your help.”

  “You want me to stay on the phone until you fall asleep?”

  “You’d . . . do that?”

  “Yeah. Just in case he comes in, then I’ll hear you scream. Or just snore.”

  “I don’t snore.”

  He sucks his teeth. “Quit playing, girl, you know you snore.”

  “Ugh. Okay, fine, I snore! But it’s not that loud.”

  “Dude, what are you doing?”

  Buddy happily licks the toes on my one foot hanging out the bathtub as Sammy stands over me.

  “What?” I stir, rolling over. But one look at Sammy, I unfurl from the towels I used as blankets and scramble out of the tub.

  “Uhhh, why were you sleeping in the bathtub?” Sammy asks, eyebrow raised.

  “I . . . um, wasn’t feeling good. Thought I was going to throw up or something. So I stayed in here.”

  Sammy inspects the tub, then shrugs. “Oh. Well, can you get out? I have to pee!”

  In the hall, I check my phone. Yusef must have stayed on the call until way after I fell asleep. How . . . sweet of him. Especially for some crazy new girl who calls in the middle of the night, talking about demons.

  Oh! The Post-it note!

  I burst into my room, excited to see the pseudo love note to myself (or kind of from Yusef), relieved he would be right about the whole silly fiasco. I glance down and the Post-it sits by my bare foot, but it’s not facing the way I slipped it under the door. It’s been flipped, sticky side up. And there’s a drawing, but it’s not in the same pen I used. It’s in marker, bleeding through the paper. My skin goes cold as I grab it. Someone . . . or something drew another face. Not a smiley face, an angry face, the mouth made to look like sharp teeth.

  And it’s in childlike handwriting.

  PIPER!

  Piper is eating her cereal at the kitchen island as I storm downstairs, slamming the Post-it in front of her.

  “You think this is funny?” I roar.

  Piper nonchalantly glances at the note, then back at me, mouth forming a sly half grin.

  “What’s that?” she asks in a cheerful voice, and I want to shove her off the stool.

  “Mari,” Mom says, setting her coffee down on the counter to step in between us. “Take it easy. What’s the matter with you?”

  “She put this in my room!”

  Piper’s face remains stoic. “No I didn’t. Ms. Suga did.”

  Mom examines the Post-it, baffled. “What’s—”

  “What’s going on?” Alec snaps, standing behind Piper.

  “I think Marigold is sick, Daddy,” she says, full of fake concern. “She was sleeping in the bathtub last night.”

  Mom crosses her arms. “Why were you sleeping in the bathtub?”

  I fix my mouth to tell them about the man in my room and explain the Post-it note, until I look at Piper’s smug grin and realize, I can’t say shit. If I tell them what I saw, it’ll be a major red flag. They’ll use it as an excuse for me to take one of those at-home drug tests Mom keeps in her bathroom she thinks I don’t know about. I’ll fail it, instantly.

  Mom stares at me, as if trying to take a read, as if she’s seen this part of me before. I straighten, snatching the note out of her hand.

  “Food poisoning. But . . . I’m fine.”

  Thirteen

  “DUDE, THAT’S SERIOUSL
Y fucked up.”

  Tamara and I are having our weekly FaceTime veg fest, including snacks and music. Mom and Alec took the kids to the movies, giving me a much-needed night alone and some quality girl time.

  “Tell me about it,” I groan, sitting cross-legged at my desk. “IDK, maybe it was bad weed that sent me on a trip. And Piper must have overheard me talking to Yusef.”

  “I told you to be careful, you don’t know those crazy people. I’ve been reading up on Cedarville . . . it was like a war zone back in the day. Crack had people walking around like zombies. Trust no one!”

  That’s Tamara. My own Veronica Mars, she’s good at researching shit. She can pinpoint an address based on an Instagram pic. I told her she should open her own private-eye business. She’d rake in some serious cash and could buy herself a car.

  “Yeah,” I say. “Guess you’re right. Clearly, I’m letting this town and their weirdo ways get to me.”

  Even though I can’t stop thinking about what Erika told me regarding the Sterling Laws. It’s pretty fucked up and explains what really happened here more than any Wikipedia page could.

  “You better get something to flush that shit out your system,” she warns me. “And quick. You don’t want your mama sending you to a farm.”

  “Oooh! Good idea,” I agree, and set a new alarm.

  11:00 a.m. ALARM: Buy detox kit.

  Buddy, chewing on a bone by my bed, raises his head with a sniff. He stares out the open bedroom door, a low, deep growl rumbling from his throat.

  “What’s up with Bud?” Tamara asks.

  “Nothing. He’s just being a spazz. But seriously, what am I going to do about Piper? She needs to pay for this shit.”

  Tamara sighs. “Mari, maybe you should just let it go. Take it easy on her.”

  “Are you seriously coming to that little bitch’s defense?”

  “Dude, you’re my girl, for real. But Piper . . . is just a kid. A kid who’s been through a whole lot. I mean, she lost her mama and found her grandmother dead after school. You would be seriously fucked up too, if that was you.”

  Shame bubbles up, twisting my stomach in knots. Mom told me when Piper came home from first grade that day and found her grandmother unresponsive in her recliner, Piper sat by her feet and watched TV for five hours, until Alec came home. Maybe Piper really is just acting out after all she’s gone through.