White Smoke

by Tiffany D. Jackson

  He drops two bags of popcorn on the floor, freeing a hand to grab the apple silencing him. “Prank? Do I look like someone who has time for pranks?”

  Soapy suds drip down my hair onto the carpet. My pulse a drum.

  “SOMEONE was just in the bathroom. SOMEONE kept turning off the freaking water.”

  “Ew. Why would I be in the bathroom with you naked? That’s all kinds of gross.”

  “Sammy, I’m serious!”

  He rolls his eyes. “Okay, well, what did this someone look like?”

  “I don’t know! My eyes were closed.”

  “You saw someone with your eyes closed?”

  “It’s . . . hard to explain, Sammy,” I gasp, realizing I was holding my breath. I grip my chest, trying to loosen the tightness in my lungs.

  Sammy drops the sarcasm and the rest of his snacks, leading me into my room as I pinch my towel together, trying to gather air with a free hand. I sit on the bed, putting my head between my legs, and inhale the lemongrass essential oil I dab on my palm.

  Sammy passes my inhaler, shaking his head. “You sure you didn’t just get soap in your eye and freak yourself out?”

  I take two puffs, letting the mist drift down my throat. Honestly, I hadn’t thought of that. But even if the knob fell on its own . . . I know I wasn’t alone in that bathroom.

  Damn, I really wish I hadn’t smoked that last blunt.

  “No. Sammy, someone was there. There was a hand. . . .”

  “Well, it wasn’t me.”

  The thought hits us separately and we turn to Piper’s open door.

  Piper stares back at us from the edge of her bed, legs swinging. She doesn’t say a word, but something makes it clear she’s not even the least bit curious about what’s going on.

  She already knows.

  Five

  TAMARA’S BRIGHT SHINING face pops up on my MacBook screen after the third ring.

  “Dude! Finally!”

  “Hey, hey,” I say, closing the door. “What’s up? Service is still hella shitty but at least I can communicate with the outside world. Feels like it’s been forever!”

  “Dude, it’s been decades!”

  “Centuries.”

  “Millenniums.”

  “Eons!”

  We laugh, and I notice a silver stud twinkle on her right nostril. A new piercing? Why did she wait until I was gone to do that? Did she go with someone else? Another friend? I scratch the inside of my arm and check my skin.

  FACT: Bedbug bites appear as red, itchy bumps on the skin, usually on the arms or shoulders. Most bedbug bites are painless at first, but later turn into itchy welts.

  “OMG, your room is huge,” Tamara says, looking past me. “It’s like three times the size of your old one. Are you guys rich now or something? I thought writers don’t make any money.”

  “Shut up,” I say, throwing popcorn at the screen.

  “So! How’s the rest of the house?”

  “It’s nice, I guess, but kindaaaaa creepy. Feels like I’m sleeping in someone else’s bed, in their sheets, the toilet seat still warm as if they just took a shit. And I swear at night, I can hear things moving.”

  She chuckles. “You sure it’s not just the fam or Bud?”

  “No way. Even Buddy’s on edge. And it doesn’t help that we’re surrounded by all these old decrepit houses. Oh, hey, before I forget, my dad said you can come visit us in LA during Christmas break.”

  “Um, yeah. I’ll have to see,” she says, avoiding my eyes as she checks her phone. “You know my entire family comes around then, so . . . you know how it goes.”

  Tamara has approximately one billion cousins, aunts, and uncles. I miss the warmth of her home, her mom’s rice and beans and Mexican creamed corn. Living so close to one another, we were more like family than best friends. But I at least thought she’d be able to come for a few days. She knows I can’t go back to Carmel . . . maybe ever.

  “Anyway, so what else’s been going on? And what the hell happened to your face?”

  I give her the rundown of the last week, including being knocked out by Yusef.

  “Dude, he was totally hitting on you, literally! I mean, he talked gardening, that’s practically foreplay. Better than David’s cornball ass.”

  “DON’T say his name.”

  Tamara blinks. “Sorry. Habit.”

  The fan above my head spins with a click, underscoring the awkward silence. I clear my throat and change subjects.

  “And of course, Piper is as annoying as ever.”

  “That’s what little sisters are supposed to do, silly. But what are you going to do about your . . . uh . . . other problem?”

  I lower the volume on my computer and lean closer. “You mean my lack of bud? I don’t know. But from what I’ve read, drugs definitely hit this city hard, so I’m bound to find a hookup at school.”

  “Maybe your new boyfriend could help,” she teases.

  I point to the welt on my face. “Dude, this is not the best way to start a romance.”

  “You’ll have a funny story to share on Insta for your one-year anniversary.”

  “I rather take my chances with strangers.”

  Tamara sighs. “Just . . . be careful, Mari. You don’t want to get caught up again.”

  “I wasn’t caught up, Tamara,” I say, hard. “I was poisoned.”

  “Um, yeah. Right, sorry. Hey! You know . . . why don’t you grow it yourself!”

  I tilt my head to the left. “Dude, are you baked right now?”

  “No, seriously, I was watching some show on YouTube about weed farmers, how they turned their backyards into the garden of good and evil. You could be your own supplier! Then you wouldn’t have to worry about getting it from some stranger.”

  “Dude, I can’t grow weed in my backyard. Mom would kill me!”

  “Who said anything about your backyard,” she smirks. “You said you’re surrounded by empty houses. Choose one.”

  For a moment, I’m dumbstruck by the brilliance of her idea.

  “I can’t . . . or . . . well, I would need the right supplies. . . .”

  “Ha! And it seems like you know the right man to give them to you.”

  I swallow, unable to hold the thought back any longer.

  “Well . . . have you seen him?” I ask begrudgingly. “The cornball?”

  Tamara nibbles on her lower lip, braiding her shiny black hair. “Just online. Track practice started up this week.”

  “What! They let him back on the team?”

  “Well, um . . . he did make regionals last year.”

  “So did I! And I’m twice as good as that asshole!”

  She shakes her head. “Why don’t you just join the team there? You’re fast as shit, they’ll probably let you walk on with no prob.”

  I hesitate. “Nah.”

  She chuckles. “Okay. Then what are you going to do?”

  Nothing. Absolutely nothing. After the past few months, all I want is freedom. Doesn’t mean I want to go out partying at some raging kegger, smoke myself up to the moon. Just means I want to not be under my parents’ thumbs 24-7 for a change. That’s why the more chill I seem, the more chill they become, the more freedom I win.

  The bedroom door clicks and slowly creaks open. Tamara frowns, leaning in to see past me.

  “Uh, Mari . . .”

  “Yeah, I know. Doors open here on their own all the time. The contractor said they’re just ‘old locks.’”

  “Um, holy Ghostbusters, Batman. That’s not normal.”

  I sigh. “I know.”

  “Piper, you feeling okay?” Mom asks. “You look a little . . . tired.”

  Mom watches Piper play with her cereal, a twinge of concern in her eye.

  “I’m fine,” she spits.

  Piper does look tired. I’ve never met a ten-year-old with bags under their eyes. She also looks paler and slightly on the thinner side than I remember. Not that I’ve paid much attention to her.

  As I s
lip on some shoes, my phones buzzes on the counter.

  “It’s Dad!” Sammy says, and presses accept. “Hi, Dad!”

  “Hey, Dad,” I say. “You’re on speaker.”

  “Heyyy! Trying to catch you guys before the first day of school.”

  “Mom’s here too!” Sammy chimes in eagerly, pushing Mom closer to the phone.

  “Oh! Hey, Raq,” Dad says. “How are our offspring?”

  “You mean when they’re not eating everything in the fridge? They’re doing okay,” Mom says, tickling Sammy’s side.

  “Sounds like they’re taking after me.”

  Alec walks into the kitchen with his gym bag, kissing Piper on the head.

  “Who’s that?” he asks.

  “Chay,” Mom says. “Calling from Japan.”

  “Oh! Hey, brother! How are you?”

  “Alec! Doing good! Just eating my weight in sushi. How’s the new gig?”

  I wish I was annoyed that Dad and Alec are sort of buddies, but . . . it’s actually kinda cool. No weirdness or tension that I can see, but I once asked him about it during a game of chess.

  “Hey, Dad, why are you trying to be cool with the jerk stealing your wife and kids?”

  Dad laughed. “I love your mom, I want her to be happy. We weren’t really happy together and no one deserves part-time love from a guy traveling all over the world. So if this guy makes her happy, then I want him to know that he’s all right in my book.”

  Sammy’s brows furrow, watching Alec talk. He’s less than enthused.

  “Oh, hey, Alec, did you get my text?” Dad asks.

  “Yup! Just about to deliver it. Hang on, while you’re on the line.”

  “Nah, man, you go ahead. I’ll catch up with you later.”

  Dad says his goodbyes as Alec runs into the hallway.

  “What was all that about?” Mom asks.

  Alec opens the closet and retrieves a red shoebox from the top shelf. He walks back in, beaming, before holding it out to me.

  “Here you go! Your dad asked me to surprise you!”

  I stare at the box, blinking. Mom’s face lights up.

  “What’s this?”

  “New sneakers,” he says, grinning. “For track! He thought you might need some.”

  Oh no.

  Thoughts whirlwind and I lick my lips. “Um, thanks, but . . . I’m not doing track.”

  Alec’s face falls. “What?”

  “You can return them if you’d like. I’m sure they were expensive.”

  The rooms freezes around me. Too many questioning looks. I quickly grab my bag, duck around Alec, and head for the door.

  “Mari,” Mom says, following me, her tone clipped. “You don’t want to do track?”

  “I . . . just want to focus on my healing this year. I don’t need any distractions.”

  Mom opens her mouth but I quickly cut her off.

  “Anyways, gotta go, don’t want to be late!”

  Here’s the first thing that I noticed about Kings High School: it’s old. Like, seats attached to mini desks, green blackboards old. Lockers the color of liver; most of the textbooks coverless; a computer lab from the dinosaur ages. Not much wood to worry about, so at least I won’t be a total freak inspecting my seat every day.

  The second thing I noticed: the kids. On first glance, you’d think this was an all-girls’ school. It’s not that I’m looking for boys, but you could practically smell the estrogen permeating the air. By lunch, I counted no more than six boys, total. Yusef being one of them, surrounded by a pack of groupies, participating in some kind of fashion contest for his attention. I keep my head down and my distance.

  The third thing I noticed: the smell. It didn’t stink but it had a musty scent that reminded me of a nursing home. And yet, all day I spent sniffing the unfamiliar halls, classrooms, the dimly lit gym. Sniffing kept me occupied enough to ignore the few mumbles hitting my back.

  “That’s that new girl who lives on Maple Street. . . .”

  “What happened to her face?”

  But I wasn’t smelling the school for a whiff of nostalgia. I was sniffing for . . . something specific.

  Right before last period, with my nostrils full of dust, I catch a faint whiff of it. A girl with long braids and an oversized jean jacket wrapped in that familiar sweet, tangy scent mixed with fiery smoke.

  Just the kind of smoke I’m looking for.

  She treks down the hall in her headphones and I follow, straight into a narrow bathroom with two stalls. Shit.

  “Uh, hey,” I say at the sink, awkwardly washing my hands, realizing I don’t have a game plan.

  “Heyyyy,” she says, squeezing drops in the corners of her eyes. The smell is even stronger with her bag open.

  I’m trash at the whole “making friends with complete strangers” thing, so I blurt out the only thing I can think of.

  “Um, you got a tampon?”

  She chuckles. “Girl, that was weak as hell. You gotta do better than that.” She faces me. “Did you know elephants are pregnant for two years and pretty much give birth through their butts? Imagine having to carry a load of shit for a whole two years.” She pauses with a grin. “See? Now that’s how you strike up a convo. Oh, the name’s Erika.”

  Relieved, I smile. “Marigold.”

  “I know,” she laughs. “There ain’t no one in this school who doesn’t know your name.”

  “I’m playing right into the New Girl in Town cliché, aren’t I?”

  “Yup. You’re fresh competition.”

  “Competition?”

  “If you haven’t noticed, we’re a pussy-heavy population.”

  “Glad it’s not just my imagination. You’re not threatened?”

  She grins. “We’re not playing on the same team, boo.”

  We walk into the hall and I’m comforted by her familiar scent. Comforted enough to ask for a hit. But . . . Tamara’s voice is in my head, telling me to be careful. Erika is still a stranger, and if this move has taught me anything, it is to tread lightly with people you don’t know.

  With the day done, I’m pretty proud of myself for surviving unscathed and making at least one new friend. That is, until I hear a familiar voice call my name.

  “Cali, what’s up!”

  Oh no. . . .

  Yusef jogs in my direction, smiling, and the entire hallway freezes. The eyes of every single girl zero in on us. Erika raises an eyebrow.

  “Welp, that’s my cue,” she chuckles. “Catch you later.”

  I squirm as she runs off, working fast to pack up my bag and grab my AirPods. A girl walking by bumps into my shoulder, a scowl on her face.

  “Seriously?” Are we in middle school?

  Yusef stops behind me as I slam my locker shut.

  “Hey,” I mutter, speed walking toward the front doors, but he follows.

  “What up doe? Haven’t seen you all day!”

  “It’s a pretty big school,” I grumble, avoiding eye contact.

  “Damn, girl,” he says, finger circling my welt. “You bruise easy.”

  I shoot him daggers. “It’s soooo not funny.”

  “Well, at least you came to school looking tough.”

  “Or looking like I got my ass beat.”

  He chuckles. “I’d lean them the other way and make ’em guess. So? How you liking it?”

  We bust through the front doors with the entire population of Kings High watching us.

  “It’s school. What’s there to like,” I say, taking the steps two at a time.

  “Good point,” he laughs. “Walk you home? We can compare A and B day schedules.”

  I stop short to face him, keeping my voice down. “Dude, no way!”

  “What?”

  “Do you want me to get my ass beat for real?”

  “Girl, what are you talking about?”

  I glance over my shoulder, feeling the whispering voices on my back. Cliques of girls gather on the front steps, mumbling to each other, their eyes frosty.


  “Just . . . stay away from me, Yusef. Seriously.”

  Yusef stares, dumbfounded. “Um. Okay.”

  Then I’m rushing away, fast. With a twinge of guilt threatening to catch up to me.

  “And they have a science club. And a sci-fi club. And a code club!”

  Sammy talks fast over a plate of carrot sticks, book bag still hanging off his shoulders.

  “See? Told you you’d like it there,” Mom says, sliding a bowl of oatmeal across the counter, his favorite afternoon snack. “And how was your first day, Piper?”

  Piper doesn’t look up from her Lunchable, remaining silent.

  “Oooo . . . kay! And what about you, my other minion?”

  I shrug. “I survived.”

  “Must feel . . . different,” Mom says. “After the last few months of homeschooling.”

  “I guess,” I mumble, popping a handful of grapes into my mouth. “They don’t take cards in the lunchroom so I’m going to need some cash.”

  Mom stares for a beat, wheels spinning. “They . . . have a school account. I’ll send a check.”

  “Seriously? I’m just buying lunch. You can’t trust me to do that?”

  Mom quickly pivots, putting the kettle on the stove. “It’s just easier this way. Right?”

  She still doesn’t trust me with money. Guess I don’t blame her.

  “Gonna go for a run,” I announce through gritted teeth.

  I lace up my sneakers on the front porch and stretch my calves. Running releases toxins in the organs through sweating. It’s not track meets, but it’s a decent substitute. And I’m hoping it at least curbs the weed cravings gnawing on my tongue.

  Across Sweetwater, the other side of Maple Street is idyllic compared to our side. There’s at least some resemblance of life. Old men watering half-dead lawns, women on porches, kids playing in driveways, the smell of charcoal burning through the air, a casual afternoon. But the moment I jog by, all the reverie is cut short, shut off like a yanked TV plug.

  The stares hit my skin and sink into my bloodstream. Reminds me of the day after my arrest. How the whole school stopped to watch me clean out my locker, flanked by police escorts. Megan O’Connell threatened to bomb the school and she was only sent to the nurse’s office.

  I turn my music up and push myself harder, trying to burn all the thoughts—the girls at school, Yusef’s face, the image of that hand reaching into the shower—out of my frontal lobe. It was just my imagination, I keep telling myself over and over again. The exhaustion and new environment are playing tricks on me. There was no hand.