I’d only done it a handful of times, always scared if I smoked too much it’d wig me out, but the idea of not thinking was too tempting. My mind was always jumping around, worrying about stuff, and I wanted to chill for a while. Most of my friends’ moms took Xanax or Valium, and Bonnie and Claire stole the meds on a regular basis and got giggly or sleepy or buzzed. Their parents were hypocritical—screaming how their kids shouldn’t do drugs when they couldn’t start a day without the power of a little white pill.

“I’ve done it a few times,” I admitted.

David’s gaze held mine. “You don’t have to smoke if you don’t want to.”

Something in my chest relaxed. My own friends liked to pressure me, either to cheat on a test or give Ryan Thomas a blow job because it was no big deal, but here I was with people who didn’t care what I chose to do or not do.

I smiled at him. “I want to.”

“You’re okay with blowing off the rest of the day?”

I had track practice after school. I had a quiz in English fifth period. My mom would freak if the school called, and my friends would be pissed because I’d screw my team and anger my coach, but I didn’t care. A thrill coursed through me, as if I felt more alive. I’d promised Nonni I’d go over for dinner, but I’d make sure I had plenty of time to come down off any high. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Freda gave me a thumbs-up sign, and Connor came back with the bong and a sandwich bag full of weed and set them on the beat-up ottoman. Freda started talking about the places we’d go and the things we’d do this summer, and David put on some music, and for a while, everything was really, really good.

CHAPTER THREE

Sophia

One hand pressed to my stomach, I tried not to wince at the achy, bloated bubble of pain hidden there. It had been growing worse, enough that the antacids and bland food weren’t helping any longer. I figured it was a bladder infection, but the sulfur pills hadn’t worked either. I thought of my doctor and how she’d schedule a multitude of tests, both to be sure and to get the extra fees. She’d already mentioned an endoscopy as the next step. I’d lived my whole life in relatively good health, and with each decade, the breakdown of flesh and bones and blood became more apparent. My habits of denial and my drive to believe I was still young had finally shattered under not only the consistent, nagging pain, but also the gut instinct that I was really sick, which I tried to bury even deeper.