“Don’t be shy. Suck harder,” Sofía commands.

“That’s what he said,” I say with a smirk, and they laugh. She places the bowl to my lips again, and I inhale deeply like I’m gasping for oxygen. It burns as I trap it in my lungs.

“Hold it,” Sofía says, ripping the bowl away from me and sucking down any remaining smoke from the embers.

I can’t hold it any longer; I feel like my lungs are about to explode. I gag as an endless white cloud streams from my mouth, and I cough uncontrollably.

“You’re gonna feel that,” Chloe says, grabbing it from Sofía once she gets a hit. She holds the smoke inside and slowly lets it seep from her nostrils. She lies back on the couch across from the one Sof and I are on, wholly unburdened, and closes her eyes.

We pass around the bowl until it’s kicked, and I don’t really feel anything aside from my lungs burning.

Until I super feel it.

I’m transfixed on the two couches, and a memory of Taylor and me as kids swells.

“We should push these couches together and lie in the middle. My sister and I used to do that. We pretended it was a ship and—”

“Say no more,” Chloe says, eyes still closed, body rising slowly and unsteady like the undead. “I love this idea. This idea is life. Batten down the hatches, mates. We’re setting sails on the high seas.” She stands up.

“The fuck are you saying?” Sofía asks. “Are you having a stroke?”

Chloe places her hand over her heart for no reason at all. “Perhaps, yes.”

Have you ever moved furniture completely blazed out of your mind? I wouldn’t recommend it. My arms are Jell-O, and I’m utterly useless, stopping every three inches to laugh and fall on the floor with Chloe as Sofía stares at us from where she sits cross-legged. But eventually, we somehow push the two open ends of the couch together so that we have to crawl up and over the arms to get inside. Chloe gathers blankets and tosses them in before diving on top of them, arms splayed.

“We have to order the Hangry Cookie,” Sofía says. “Perfect Thanksgiving dinner.”

“What the hell is the Hangry Cookie?” I ask.

“Shut up!” Sofía says. “You don’t know?!” Quickly, she pulls up the menu on her phone. “Custom cookies freshly baked. They are literally the size of a personal pizza. You can get any dough base they have blended with any of their mix-ins. I’m a peanut butter cookie with crushed Oreos and chocolate sprinkles kinda girl. And they come warm and gooey, and I swear it’s better than dick.”

Chloe’s eyes go wide. “I see no lies.”