“And those were ours,” she huffed.

“They were on the counter. Free game,” Jamal said, shrugging as he glanced over at me. A moment later, he paused, narrowing his eyes and pointing a lazy finger at us. “Wait a minute. Why do you two look—” His eyes widened. “Are you high?”

Tiffany gasped, clutching her chest. “How dare you accuse us?”

I nodded vigorously. “Yeah, how dare you?”

Jamal looked at Blake, then back at us. “Oh, they’re so high.”

Blake was focused on me, oblivious to the chaos brewing. Tiffany and I exchanged another horrified glance.

A frown crept across Blake’s face. “Why are you guys high?”

I saw the exact moment the realization hit him.

His gaze snapped to the empty plate.

The color drained from his face. “No...”

Tiffany covered her mouth, trying not to laugh.

“No,” Blake said again, louder this time. He looked at me, then at Jamal. “These aren’t—” He trailed off, waiting for someone to tell him he was wrong.

I couldn’t speak.

“Beverly.” Blake’s voice was eerily calm. “Tell me this isn’t what I think it is. You two better have made these with love and not anything else.”

I opened my mouth, but no words came out.

Tiffany clapped her hands together. “Funny story!”

His nostrils flared. “It better be a really funny story.”

I swallowed hard. “They’re just, um…special brownies?”

His fingers twitched. “Special.”

I nodded weakly.

There was a long pause as Jamal processed. “I’m gonna die.”

“No, you’re not.” Tiffany rolled her eyes. “You’re just gonna be extremely high.”

“I can’t be high right now,” he groaned. “I have things to do. I have responsibilities. I have—” He stopped mid-sentence, eyes suddenly glazed over. “Wait. What was I saying? Shit. This is it. I’m dying. I can feel my heartbeat in my teeth. Tell my parents I love them.”

Tiffany sighed, rubbing her temples. “You’re not dying. You’re just stoned. Drink some water and sit down before you embarrass yourself further.”

He dragged a hand down his face. “I hate you both.”

“Okay, but hear me out,” I said, trying to sound reasonable. “This could be a bonding experience.”

Jamal made a face. “Or a traumatic one.”

“Whatever,” Tiffany staggered to the fridge and yanked it open, “I need my Diet Coke.”

Jamal muttered something in Arabic under his breath.

“What was that?” She shot him a glare, hand on her hips.

Meanwhile, Blake was pacing. Pacing and panicking. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, muttering numbers under his breath. Then he spun toward the sink, frantically rinsing his mouth out like that would somehow reverse it. “I can’t—I can’t be high, B.”

Jamal let out a slow, breathy laugh as he collapsed onto a barstool.  “Oh, no, buddy, you’re in for a ride.”