I put my hand inside, and as I reached down for the joint, my fingers brushed against his hard chest. A current zapped through me. Al must have felt it too because he glanced at me and grinned. I tried to act casual as I pulled out the thin cigarette, slightly bent and wrapped in brown paper. Al opened his mouth and nodded for me to put the joint between his lips. Suddenly it struck me I was on an actual date—something that Al, being older, surely had assumed all along. What had I expected? That we were going for ice cream? We’d been flirting for weeks. Anna’s words echoed in my head; “Stay away from dee boys or I’ll keel you!” I pushed Anna’s warning out of my mind and focused on the swingy beat of the music.

He lit the joint, inhaling deeply. The smoke furled around his full lips and up his nose. I was nervous. Nicole had smoked with one of Steffi’s boyfriends and said it mostly just made her laugh and act stupid and I didn’t want Al to think I was silly or immature. Al tapped an ember into the ashtray and handed me the joint. Our fingers touched and again, that feeling! Like electricity surging through me. I put the joint between my lips, inhaled, and began coughing uncontrollably.

“Shit! Shit!” I wheezed.

My eyes teared up and my throat smarted. I handed back the joint and pressed my hands into the carpeted dash while I fought to stop coughing. Embarrassment flushed my already red cheeks. I hated not being good at things.

“Pull slowly, baby,” Al laughed. “You’ll get the hang of it.” He waited for me to catch my breath. “You okay?”

I nodded and he handed back the joint. This time I inhaled a tiny bit.

“Now, hold it in your lungs,” he instructed.

The smoke tasted sweet, much better than cigarettes. I exhaled and coughed but just a little.

“Good job.” Al patted my knee and rested his hand on my thigh. Heat rose in parts of my body only I had ever explored. It was terrifying and wonderful.

Al wore a thick gold ring with a dark purple stone on his middle finger that reminded me of my mother’s earrings; the ones I had never worn but still kept in my jewelry box.

“Purple’s my favorite color,” I said, touching the ring.

The sun had set, and the sky was ablaze as we pulled into the Venice Beach parking lot off Rose and Ocean Boulevard. Cars scattered here and there with couples and families milling around. On the boardwalk, skaters and bicyclists whizzed by while the last of the vendors closed up shop, pulling down metal awnings to protect their wares from the junkies and crack addicts who rose after dark like vampires.