by Sara Gran
“It’s no good for you,” I said. I was seventeen. I knew you could get hooked. But I wasn’t exactly sure how.
He leaned back on the sofa and closed his eyes. He looked so happy. “No, it ain’t so bad,” he murmured.
“Well, then I’m gonna try some.” Monte was three years older. He had said that as long as you didn’t do it every day, you’d be fine. Nothing bad could happen to you.
I leaned down and took a sniff. It tasted horrible. I felt like I might be sick. I leaned back and curled up against Monte.
“It didn’t do anything,” I said. I didn’t see how anyone could get hooked on the stuff. It tasted awful and it didn’t do anything. Except I was starting to feel a little sleepy. And I thought I might get sick. Monte put his arm around me and pulled me close. His hand felt so good on my shoulder.
“Wait,” he said. “Just wait. It’ll do something.”
Acknowledgments
A million thank-yous to Dan Conaway and Simon Lipskar; to Clara Farmer and everyone at Atlantic Books; and to Jody Hotchkiss and Danae DiNicola.
