Jaime took the next hit, holding the dwindling jay daintily in her fingers as she cocked her head to the side, her auburn hair falling across one shoulder. A moment later, in response to a comment by Reese, she reared back her head and filled the room with her raspy laugh.
The joint traveled to Pete, who took two drags and kicked Tez, who didn’t see him trying to pass it his way.
Tez put the roach, too small to handle with his chubby fingers, into some hemostats, medical pliers we used as roach clips. Once he secured it, he took another hit and passed it over to Steve.
Steve held up the roach, scoffing it. He fired up another one, his bulging muscles evident even with that slight activity, and the new joint made the rounds once again.
I swigged my beer and my stomach rumbled. “Hey Jimbo, got any snacks?”
He laughed, his bushy mustache obscuring his upper lip. “Got the munchies?”
“Big time.”
“Me too,” Mary said.
“I wouldn’t refuse something to eat myself.” Pete impersonated actor Jimmy Stewart, sounding dead-on.
“Looks like we’re gonna raid the fridge,” Jim said.
Everyone but Pete and Steve got up.
“Trapani, be the coolest girlfriend in the world and bring me something back, would ya?”
“Ditto,” Steve said.
There was plenty of food in the kitchen, and we tore into it, trying to satisfy our overwhelming urge for chow. We scarfed down barbecued chicken drumsticks, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, handfuls of cheese puffs, toasted strawberry Pop-Tarts (burning our tongues when we ate them too fast) and the bowl of grapes on the counter. Satiated, I grabbed some snacks for the guys.
I finished my beer and nestled my head in Pete’s lap. I closed my eyes and reveled in him stroking my hair while we listened to music. Conversations receded from my consciousness as I succumbed to a dream-like state. A summer breeze blew into Jim’s room, clearing out the lingering smoke. Laying on Pete, surrounded by our friends, I was the epitome of content.
A nagging voice told me to pull it together soon in time to go home. I hated going home. I would rather spend every moment with my buds. Worse, the summer was over and this, our last hurrah. We headed back to school on Monday.
Pete drove me home a couple of hours later. I’d come down, only fatigue and laziness remained, and my eyes were clear thanks to the eyedrops Jaime carried around in her purse.
I found my parents sitting on the back porch drinking Sangria and complaining about the increased traffic in the neighborhood. I eyed my father warily. Alcohol could make him act happy or crazy. Seemingly jovial at the moment, I joined them.
The color of my father’s skin attested to a summer of lounging outside. I glanced at my right arm. He was winning our annual contest for best tan. My mother never participated—her fair complexion burned too easily.
“What did you do today? Did you have fun?” my mom asked.
“We hung out at Jim’s doing the usual...listening to music, talking, raiding his mother’s refrigerator.”
They laughed. “I hope you left her something,” my father said.
“We did—a mess! Just kidding.”
Dad held his arm up next to mine. “Hmm, looks like I may have won this year.”
“Don’t count your chickens before they hatch. We still have September.”
We bantered back and forth until it was time for dinner. I set the table—it was just the three of us now that Anthony had moved to San Jose to begin college. I actually missed his presence.
My mother brought tacos and toppings to the table and we sat down, filling our shells the way we preferred. I loved mine with the saucy ground beef my mother prepared, topped with cheddar cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, slivers of red onion and fresh guacamole.
My father took a bite, then proceeded to speak anyway—a habit I detested. “How are things with Pete? You two seem pretty serious.”
“We are.” I flashed onto a scene of our recent lovemaking. Now my cheeks were burning.
“Are you in love?”
“She’s too young to be in love,” my mother answered.
I shot her a displeased look. “Yes, Dad, we are in love.”
My father gazed at my mother. “Remember our first date, Diane?”
She nodded, a little smile crossing her lips. “We were in college. I showed up for a date with your roommate and left with you instead. You swept me off my feet.”
“It seems like yesterday.”
“But we were in college Al, Anna’s just a sophomore in high—”
“I’m a junior this year.”
“The point is, you’re too young to be in love. You can’t possibly grasp it at your age,” she said.
What a ridiculous statement. My mother didn’t have a clue.
“I still don’t know this boy very well,” my father said.
“Pete’s a good guy. He’s a little shy around you.”
“But not around you?”
“No. He’s normal.”
“He’s not pushy, is he?”
He was fishing, but I didn’t take the bait. “He’s perfect.”
“Not for long. No one is perfect,” my mother said.
Why was she being so negative?
“Don’t get too smitten,” she added. “You’re too young to be tied down.”
“Mom, I’m only in my second year of high school. I think we’ll be alright.”
“It’s true that in a matter of months, you’ll be off to college and then what? Broken hearts. You’ve got to stick to your plan,” my father said.
Great, my mother had somehow steered Alfonso to his favorite subject: my future.
“You’ll go to college, get a
