I let smoke rise from my mouth, it’s kind of like holding my breath. I like watching the smoke rise in front of my face. I pass the hose. Steve makes a face as he inhales through a hose for what seems like a long time. He throws his head back and lets smoke rise from his mouth. I think Steve looks stupid. Do I look stupid? Someone enters the room and says, “Jason smokes hookah?” I’m listening to the smoke cooling, bubbling in the hookah as someone inhales. “I’m seventeen” is a thought I have. The thought becoming distant, I’m smiling a little.
She is gorgeous, like something at the beach. I’m trying to decide if she’s staring at me without looking at her. She smells like Hawaii is what it is. If I move I might touch her. A pretty face, I had hoped she would lose weight—I had discussed this at school during lunch, we all agreed she might be a “good investment.” She had lost weight. Alone in my room I had imagined kissing her, her touching my dick, her being my girlfriend. Sitting next to her, I’m noticing I don’t care—I’m looking around the room, at the TV. Around me the walls appear yellow, but I know the paint is white. She says something I don’t hear and I smile. Someone had told me she wanted me to ask her to prom. She moves her body on the couch but she isn’t any closer. Can I really feel her trying to get closer? I don’t move. I think I know her name, but if I say it out loud I could discover I’m wrong.