“Frankie?” Zaza’s voice cuts through the tension.
Frankie straightens instantly, wiping off her earlier annoyance and replacing it with a smile. “Kitchen!”
Zaza pokes her head in, smiling widely when she sees us. “Oh, you’re here! I thought I heard voices.”
“Hey,” I greet.
“Hey yourself,” Zaza says then pauses, eyes narrowing as she looks between me and Frankie. “Jabari… are you high?”
Huh?
“Pardon?”
“Your eyes are really red.”
“What?!” My whole chest tightens.
Is that why I was acting weird earlier? Am I—? No. No way.
Frankie groans, waving me off. “He’s just got a bit of second-hand smoke going on. He’ll be fine.”
I’ve never smoked before. I can’t. League rules. My whole career would implode.
“Cici,” Za drags out, pointing at me. “You can’t hotbox him. He gets drug tested.”
I’m gonna lose my life.
“He’s fine,” Frankie insists. “Both of you relax.”
I am not fine.
“Jabari. Calm. Down.”
I realize I’m hyperventilating then.
Frankie steps in front of me. “Look—just wash your face with cold water.”
I nod, stumbling toward the kitchen sink splashing water on my face until half my shirt is wet. Frankie hands me a towel like she knew I’d make a mess.
“You hungry, big man?” she asks.
I pause.
I am.
I’m starving actually. ??Is this what being high feels like? Forgetting basic needs? Being unaware of your actions? Maybe I’m just weak because Frankie, theactual smoker,is perfectly normal.
This second hand smoke must really be getting to me ‘cause what do I mean I’m ‘weak’?
“Starving,” I admit.
“Ouuu, let’s get a pizza!” Zaza chimes.
“Get three,” I demand.
They both stare at me.
“I said I’m starving.”
