I sink into the seat and close my eyes. “Your car smells like ass lemons.”

“Air freshener. Sorry. My cousin is always borrowing it and smoking his crappy cigarettes in here.”

I peek at him. “You don’t smoke?”

“No. That shit kills you. And they’re wicked gross.”

This is funny. It makes me lauggghhhhhhhh. My drug dealer is kind of a square.

“Says. The. Drug. Dealer.”

It gets hot, really hot, and I start taking things off. “Can you roll down the windows?”

“On the door next to you.”

I look at the knob-thingy. “This car is so old.”

“Hey, it’s a car. You wanna take the T?”

The thought of getting on the subway is, like, so horrible. People eating food. All that perfume. Talking on their cell phones. The way it makes those sharp turns and I can never keep my balance.

“God. No.”

“Okay, then. Show Sunny some respect.”

“You named your car.”

“Fuck yeah, I named her. She’s my pride and joy.”

I smile at him, then pet the dashboard. “Good girl, Sunny.”

“Oh my God. She’s not a dog.”

The look on his face. I burst out laughing again.

“I’ll be here all night,” Drew says.

I stare out the window as he drives us into the center of the city, not too far from Saint Francis. The buildings here are beautiful, like we’re speeding through a picture book: brick with elegant molding; old, narrow streets.

I stop talking. I don’t know if Drew’s picking up my vibe or if he’s normally quiet. He’s got a local college station on—Emerson, probably—and it feels right, somehow, to be in a car with a drug dealer while Ben Howard sings along with his guitar.

Drew parks on a side street, then jumps out and comes around to help me.

“A gentleman drug dealer, eh?” I say when he opens the door.

He gives a bow. “At your service.”

I follow him down the narrow street and out onto Tremont, past another old church. The sand in my head falls, falls. Boston is so much better when you’re high.

“This place must have more churches than anywhere else,” I say as we pass a large stone one. Puritans, man. “Except maybe Rome. Have you been?”

He laughs. “I’m a Saint Francis charity case, remember? The farthest I’ve been is an ill-advised trip to drop off product in Brooklyn.”

I forget sometimes that my family has money, that things are easy for us. Except the staying-together-and-alive part.

“I’ve never been to Brooklyn,” I say.

A massive gust of wind blows past us, and I shriek a little. Drew laughs.

“Gotta get your East Coast sea legs,” he says.

“It’s fucking freezing!”

He laughs. “Oh, Hannah. It’s only the beginning of October. You just wait until February.”