She puts both hands over her mouth. “I did something.”
That never means anything good.
“What did you do?”
Her lips press together like she’s trying to contain something.
Her eyes go wide. “I smoked some weed.”
I stare at her. “What?”
“There was a group,” she says. “Over there. They asked if I wanted some, and I—” She gestures vaguely at the general festival grounds. “I’m at a music festival. Hippies offered me weed. I felt included.”
“You took weed from strangers?”
“They seemed nice.”
“Piper, how do you even know it was weed?”
She considers this. “I don’t, I guess. But it smelled like weed. And they’re at a music festival. They had beads on.”
“Beads?”
“Yes.”
I rub my face.
“I only took two drags,” she adds quickly. “Maybe three. But I hiccupped, and now I’m like this.”
“You hiccuped?”
She nods and hiccups again.
I gawk at her.
She gawks back.
Something happens in her face three seconds before she bursts out laughing. She’s laughing so hard she’s bent over, both hands on her knees, her shoulders shaking.
“What?” I grind out.
“You’re funny,” she manages. “When you’re angry. Your face does—” She can’t finish the sentence.
“I’m not angry. I’m—”
“Yourface,Griffin—” She dissolves into another wave of laughter.
“Where were they?” I ask. “The group?”
She points somewhere behind her and to the left. That could be anywhere from here to Oregon.
“Come on,” I say.
I start walking.
Ten steps later, I realize she isn’t behind me. I turn around and see her still doubled over, laughing at something that might or might not be happening in her own head.
“Piper?”
