“I’m calling on behalf of Joseph Harper,” he said formally.

I thought maybe Cal was going to do all the talking, but once Melissa got on the line, he tossed the phone at my chest. I don’t know what the expression on my face was like, but he took one look at it and fell on the floor, pointing at me and laughing.

I put my hand over the receiver and asked Cal to turn the music down, but he was still on the ground, now playing air drums, and didn’t hear me. I cupped my hand over my ear to block out the noise as best I could and managed to ask Melissa to go to Game Night with me, but after I hung up I knew it was going to be impossible for me to think about anything else until the date was over.

“See? That wasn’t so hard.” Instead of it mellowing him out, the pot made Cal extra verbose and too easily amused. “You know what I tell myself, Harp, whenever I get nervous about doing something?”

“You never get nervous about doing anything.”

“But I do!” His eyes were glassy, and he was wobbly on his feet as he hopped onto my bed and began lip-syncing to the song.

“Cal, be serious for a sec.” I was suddenly fascinated with the idea that Cal could feel insecure. “What do you get nervous about?”

“Ack.” He rubbed his face with his palm like he was trying to rub off the high.

“Cal,” I huffed, turning off the stereo with an irritated thud.

“Bro. Chill.” He sat down and looked at me. “I’ll tell you, even with this dumb Game Night, I worry that I’ll sound stupid or lose every round to the biggest douchebags in our class.”

“Really?” I said. “You really think like that?”

“Sometimes. Yeah.” He laughed like a stoner. “But you know what I tell myself when I do?”

“What?”

“I tell myself that everybody thinks like that. And you know what else? Deep down, nobody gives a rat’s ass what other people are doing, they’re too concerned with themselves. You can’t let that kind of shit stop you from doing your own shit. This is supposed to be fun. Games are fun. And everything in life is like that. Not all fun and games; I mean shit is important, obviously. Doing shit is important. Dreams are important.”

“Cal.”

“My point is—” He pointed his finger so close to my nose it made my eyes cross. “It’s impossible to become less of yourself by doing something you really wanna do. You can only become less by not doing it. And becoming less means you shrivel up and die inside. That’s why you have to do shit. Especially shit that scares the crap out of you. You know what I mean? You can only become more from that. More smart, more strong, more brave, more whatever. Even if you fail. That’s the goal. To be more.”