It was three o'clock in the afternoon, and Dil was not expecting anyone to be home for two more hours. He lies on his bed staring at the glow stars on his ceiling, inhaling deeply from the blunt he holds between his thumb and index finger. His schoolbag hangs on the back of his computer chair, homework tucked away where he knows he will not remember to look for it once the high hits him. He has been smoking weed for six months now, and no one in the family has noticed yet.
Tommy has band practice and his mother was working late. This morning during breakfast Stu called and let them know his flight from Paris had been delayed a full day because of bad weather conditions. The Reptar robot had finally broken down again after it's last repair fourteen years ago, when the entire family had traveled to France with Stu to make the reparations. That was where Chaz Finster had met Kira Watanabe, and Kimi became part of their little group.
Dil had turned fifteen last Wednesday, and Tommy, being sixteen, wasn't to turn seventeen for another five months. Dil knows that Tommy doesn't smoke, nor does he have sex. Then, neither does Dil, but for different reasons.
The high starts to hit him. The stars are suddenly more complex than they were three seconds ago. Now they mean something. He searches for constellations.
He doesn't know how much time has passed, and forgets how many hits he's taken before he decides to put the blunt away and save the rest for another time. He intends to ration it, because he knows will not be able to get more until next month, when his "special friend" comes back from his prolonged trip to Florida over winter break.
School had started again yesterday, but Blake's grandparents are old and dying so they've decided to stay in Florida for a few extra weeks. That was his name, Blake Tyson. Dil always thought that was a cool name, something a motorcylcle enthusiast would be named, or a rockstar.
Blake was two years older than Dil, and had far more experience with basically everything. He was a junior in high school, so he knew how to drive and he had a job. Blakes parents were wealthy business owners, who let Blake grow and sell his own pot in their basement, but he is sworn to secrecy about it. Dil simply assumes they want their kid to be a successful entrepreneur like them, despite the product of his choosing. It is not yet legal in their state to sell or smoke marijuana. But still, Blake gets good grades, and dates a pretty girl, named Amanda. Dil would never admit to anyone, but he looked up to him greatly.
He also looked up to Tommy, but in a different way. A conflicting way. He looked up to Tommy and his morals, his will to always do right by people...but Dil wanted to live life a little bit harder than everyone else. He wanted to know what it felt like to do wrong, but he's afraid to push the limits too far. So he sticks to smoking weed, and always carries a condom in his wallet, despite how he's never used it.
The front door slams downstairs and Dil is snapped out of his thoughtful haze. He left his window open, so some of the smell had already drifted out, but he knows it is not nearly that easy. He was going to get caught. So he rushes to his feet and shoves his remaining weed into a little baggy, only to be squashed at the back of his sock drawer, where nobody would dare to go. He panics. How would he explain? What would he say? Who was even home? He rushes to grab this schoolwork out of his bag and spreads it out on his bed.
Footsteps come up the stairs, and Dil knows its Tommy. Either of his parents would have gone in the kitchen where the key tree and coat rack were, but he and Tommy come straight upstairs when they get home. Unless it's his mother who only came home to grab something she forgot, in that case-
"What is that smell?" Tommy walks into Dil's room, waving his hand in front of his face, nose scrunched up. Dil looks up from his science textbook, feigning confusion.
"I don't know what-" he starts.
"Are you high?" Tommy gasps. "You're high! Dylan Prescott!"
"Whoa calm down Mom!" He stands from his bed and slams his door behind Tommy angrily. "Are you the only one here?" he questions, stern. Tommy crosses his arms and glares down at Dil, who was now only a few inches shorter. He was growing fast, and he was sure to be the same height as Tommy in a few months.
"Yes, band got cancelled," Tommy finally answers after a few seconds of silence.
"Why?" Dil tries to change the subject.
"Jess broke his wrist trying to do a handstand and the ambulance came, he's fine, don't avoid the subject. It smells like shi- crap...in here." Tommy looks down, faintly sniffing the air before going and turning on the fan in the corner of his room, aiming it towards the window. "If Mom and Dad catch you you're dead."
"They're not going to, Dad is halfway around the world and Mom is at work late, she told me to tell you she won't be home until like 10 pm. Gave me 20$ for pizza." Dil grins and holds up the bill, already excited for it; the munchies have him hard right now.
"Oh," Tommy sighs, sitting in Dil's chair and looking absentmindedly at the floor.
"How'd you know? Was it the smell or me?" Dil wonders.
"The smell. You seem fine to me," he shrugs, "I don't really know what high looks like, I just thought it involved a lot of laughing." He takes a deep breath. "Give it to me. You're not doing it anymore."
Rolling his eyes, "yeah right, get your own."
"Dil!"
"You need a hit man, loosen up! I've never seen anyone need a joint more than you. You ought to be thanking me for offering the last of my blunt, bro." Dil reaches into the back of his sock drawere. No matter how much he disapproved, Tommy would never nark on him.
"Don't 'bro' me. Since when does Dil Pickles, my little brother, do drugs? Do you know what they can do to you?"
"Make me feel good?"
"It could reduce your concentration, your brain cells are being fried," Tommy growls, waving his hands around angrily.
"See that stack of papers over there?" Dil points to the papers on the desk behind Tommy, lighting the end of the blunt to take another hit, deciding to just smoke the rest with Tommy now. "Biology essay, english essay, and physics essay; all of them due next month-6000 words each. I finished them all during my last high. I do all my homework while I'm high, and you know I get A's." Dil grins and hands Tommy the blunt. "Wouldn't you reather do it with me than some hot chick?" Dil raises his eyebrows suggestively.
"Shut up," Tommy punches his shoulder, but surprisingly takes the blunt as well. "How am I even supposed to...? What's it like?" Dil grins.
"Take it into your lungs and hold it there. Remember that the more it burns the better the hit it will be."
He watches tentatively as Tommy puts the blunt to his mouth, inhaling a massive hit. He immediately coughs up a cloud of smoke, nearly hacking up a lung. He drops the blunt on the desk and falls to the floor, bent over and coughing like nuts, drool sliding down his cheeks. Dil is laughing hysterically, falling indian style on the floor next to him.
"Great hit, but next time try to hold it in for longer than a second," Dil slaps his back, face red with laughter, Tommy's red with the struggle of breathing.
"Water," is all Tommy rasps.
"Here," Dil hands him his water bottle. Once Tommy has control over himself again Dil hands him the blunt. "Hold it in." Tommy shakes his head.
"That stuff is painful," he protests.
"It'll be worth it. Suck it in deep and don't let it out til I say to."
"That sounded so gay...," Tommy mutters, reluctantly taking the blunt and leaning up against the leg of the desk. Dil holds up the lighter, reheating his weed. This time Tommy doesn't take such a large hit, but large enough. Dil can see he wants to let it go, but he counts a solid five seconds at least before saying, "you can breath out now." Tommy huffs a cloud of smoke and leans his head back, handing Dil the blunt. Dil takes a hit.
"One more hit bro and you should be good."
"Then why are you taking like a million?" Tommy questions, voice rapsy.
"Because I've built up a tolerance. This is your first time. You're going to be a laughing idiot," Dil explains, handing it back to Tommy. "This time, hold it in for ten seconds."
He does, and when Tommy exhales this time, he grins slightly.
Dil leans back against his bedpost. This was good.
They're silent and a few seconds pass, Dil begins thinking, until Tommy shakes Dil out of his post hit haze by giggling.
"Is this real life?" Tommy questions, slightly slurring his words, and laughing again.
Dil smiles.
/
"Pepperoni!" Tommy giggles. "And bacon, I want all the bacon! Tell them if there's no bacon then I'm going to kill their families," Tommy threatens. Dil was ordering their pizza over the phone, since he didn't trust Tommy with outsiders in his current state.
"Alright can I get a large pepperoni and bacon pizza with cheesy sticks and a two liter of Coke?" Dil says into the phone.
"Root beer!" Tommy whispers urgently, poking him in the shoulder. "Dil!"
"Sorry, root beer instead of coke. Yeah, no that's okay. Alright, mhmm... Dylan Pickles. Cash. Okay, see you soon." He hangs up and the pandora he was playing on his phone immediately turns back on. They're listening to The Black Keys radio.
"Did...did you get bacon and root beer?" Tommy questions quietly.
"You heard me of course I did."
"I heard you I'm just double checking, okay? Dang, Dylan, dang." Tommy rolls over onto his back. Dil was on his bed, his head hanging off the edge, and Tommy on the floor. They were both now looking up at the stars on his ceiling, not saying anything except for the occasional giggle from Tommy about nothing in particular.
Had he corrupted his brother?
"Do you hate me?" Dil says after a few minutes of silence.
"Why would I hate you?" He's surprised that Tommy was able to say a full sentence without having a fit of laughter.
"Because I made you smoke week. You're a straight A student who has morals and shit, and I made you smoke."
"First of all, you have straight A's too...whether you want to admit it or not." It was true, Dil did not brag about his good grades. "And second...wait what was I gonna say..." Tommy trails off. "Oh right, yeah, I don't hate you, because you're my brother no matter what okay?" Tommy sighs. "I sound like an idiot right now I can't think straight. Does that ever change?"
"Yeah, the more you smoke the more control you have over your thoughts."
"I like it though. I can finally escape from myself and just not care anymore. I'm so tired of caring, Dil, sometimes I just want to take a break from who I am and be someone else." Tommy isn't laughing anymore.
"Me too," Dil whispers. "It's hard keeping up with expectations..."
They're quiet for a few moments more before Dil speaks again.
"For the record, I like who you are." Tommy grins.
"You too man. Thanks for this."