Eddie and I had managed a quick rehearsal in Mr. Kostick's room on Wednesday after school, and we had the words down, but I was still worried that I'd freeze up, or go all squeaky.

"I just don't want to blow it," I told him as we finished. "I mean how do YOU do it? Get up in front of people and play?"

"'cause it's not for them," Eddie replied seriously, those lines bracketing his mouth. "That's the thing, Fi—when I get up there, it's for ME. If they want to come along on the ride, great, but when I play, I'm layin' tracks down and ridin' them where I want to go."

"Baring your teeth," I mused. "Yeah, I can see that."

"Exactly. So . . . your mom?"

I moved closer to him, even though nobody else was in the room, and dropped my voice to a whisper. "She brought it up before I did!"

"No shit?" Eddie turned his head, and we were in that dangerous space. The one that could turn a conversation into a kiss.

"No shit," I murmured. "The funny part what when she asked me if YOU might know somebody."

He grinned, and I realized he had really soft brown eyes. Like a teddy bear. "And?"

"I said you might," I replied, my voice going husky because being this close to him was making me feel . . . weird.

And I didn't need the distraction, nice as it was.

"Pop goes the weasel," Eddie laughed, and played the riff on his guitar, ringed fingers flying. "Okay then. Tomorrow. You know where the picnic table is between the woods here and the Motel 6? Meet me there around four thirty, yeah?"

"Don't you have Hellfire then?"

"We're skipping this week; Gareth's been grounded, and Wheeler's family is taking a trip to Indianapolis for some damn reason. So, meet up?"

"Meet up," I agreed.

-oo00oo-

Thursday morning, I told mom I'd be late coming home, and she caught on, nodding. She pressed a pair of twenties into my hand, and winked.

Unfortunately, I was hauling my gear home as well, so once the school day was over, it took a little longer to get to the picnic bench, especially carrying my stick. When I got there, Eddie was coming from the other direction, trotting faster when he saw me, all the pins on his vest jingling.

"So, everything cool for tomorrow?" he wanted to know as he pulled out a leather box from his back pack and settled in next to me at the table.

"Cool. Mom suggested we wear costumes, but I'm drawing the line on that. Hard enough to sing without worrying about the outfit you're in," I sighed.

Eddie cocked his head. "Damn, wish I'd thought of it!"

I laughed. "Really? Wooden clogs, Eddie, do not go with electric guitars."

"Yeah, but you'd rock the mob cap look," he assured me. "You've got that Madam DeFarge look to you with those curls."

"Forget it. No costumes," I replied. "So, um, you have . . ." I gestured at the box. Eddie glanced down and his shoulders tensed a bit as our conversation shifted gears.

"I do. Tell me, Fi . . . are you experienced?" he gave it that Hendrix growl and I snorted a laugh because it was hilarious.

"No, and I'm not a foxy lady."

Eddie gave a disbelieving snicker. "Not what I've heard, but moving on. Never smoked?"

"Not grass, not tobacco," I responded. "Sports kind of takes up my time. Consider me a tyro."

His eyes widened. "Ooooh, vocab word of the day! Mr. Kolnick would be so proud, babe. Okay, here's the deal. I've got a couple of ounces here, and some Zig-Zag. I can show you how to roll 'em, or we can just roll all of them and your mom won't have to worry about it."

That was a hell of a kind offer, and I nodded, grateful. Eddie smiled at me, and those lines framed his mouth again. "Okay, so let's get this started . . ."

Eddie talked as he worked, and I learned about using a grinder, as well as how to sprinkle a good line onto the paper.

"Like dropping oregano on a lasagna," I commented. "Even across, no clumping."

"Yeah, so the secret to sealing it—"

"You lick it, and—" I lifted the paper to do that, and all the weed instantly dropped on the notebook Eddie was using as a surface between us.

He laughed, scooping it up and setting it back in the bag while I tried to peel the wet rolling paper off my tongue. "Oh God, your face!" he snickered. "Sorry babe, but that was the funniest shit I've seen in a long time!"

"How?" I demanded, feeling embarrassed. Some of that heat was coming back, sitting so close to him. "This is stupid!"

"Learning curve," he chided. "Nobody is born a natural at this. What you do-" and he dropped a line on a fresh paper, then looked at me. I was still picking bits of paper from my bottom lip. "Okay, watch—"

Eddie stuck his index finger in his mouth, and then ran it along the edge of the rolling paper, wetting it evenly. He rolled the joint, twisted each end, and held it up. "Tadah!"

I stared. "I can do that," I muttered. "I know I can do that."

"Yes, you can," he told me, and I could hear something in his voice. It was fondness, and it startled me that I looked at him again, studying his face.

"Eddie . . ."

He just cocked his head and looked at me, little smile on his face. "Yeah?"

"Nothing," I sighed. "So . . . how many joints can we make?"

Eddie was still staring at me. "Ten, roughly. If you want her to eat dinner, she should have one around noon or so, and maybe one before bed. Now this batch is kind of in the middle, so it should last for the week and I can get you guys more before next Friday."

I nodded taking in the instructions. "Okay. Oh!" I dug in my pocket for the money, but Eddie shook his head, pushing it back across the table.

"Forget it. This is . . . a prescription," he told me with mock-sternness. "You're covered."

"No," I told him because I can be stubborn too. "I'm not going to take charity here! How do you feel about paella?"

Blank face, so I clarified. "It's like, rice and vegetables and chicken or fish and it's one of the best meals my mom makes. She wants to make it in exchange."

"Money, no. But food . . . This is acceptable," Eddie intoned, and then grinned. "I'm getting the better end of this deal. You know that, right?"

"Yes," I admitted with a laugh. "So, let's get these done and and I can spend the rest of the night worrying about tomorrow."

"No!" Eddie pointed a stern finger at me. "No worrying. We're going to rock the hell out of Lydecker's class, earn our As and invite the rest of the school to kiss our asses!"

I laughed, and we got to work, rolling the joints.