Page 24 of The Last Special Thing

“Just another reason to see you again,” Art reminded her.

He walked her to her car, where they exchanged breathless kisses before he closed her in with another heart drawn on her window.

On the drive home, Amelia played a Spotify playlist Art had created for her: Twin Flames.

CHAPTER TEN

Afew days later, Art took Amelia to a dispensary, convinced that the only reason she didn’t enjoy weed was that she hadn’t properly experienced it. She wasn’t sure what that meant. She reiterated that she had smoked pot before, but he insisted that she had done it wrong.

In front of the green building, a prominent white warning sign was hung:

21+

No Entry for Minors

The sign reinforced that she and Art, both eighteen, shouldn’t have been there. Her chest tightened, but Art forcefully pushed open the door. She quickened her step behind, trusting that he had a plan.

Inside, she choked at the scent. She hated the smell of marijuana in the apartment, but the way it filled the building was overwhelming. Swallowing a cough, she scanned the store. She expected it to be dark and dingy, but it felt sterile with its bright white overhead lighting and glass display cases. R&B music floated throughout.

A middle-aged woman with grey streaked hair stood by the bongs. Or, rather, 'water pipes' was the technical term. An older man with a beer belly was at the checkout counter. A couple of girls, who must have been barely 21, or maybe even younger, like her and Art, giggled while taking selfies in front of an influencer-style green backdrop. She squinted. It wasn’t the typical grass background. It was shaped like pot leaves.

Her shoulders eased. Everyone looked so regular. As the beer-belly man exited, a woman in cat-eye glasses walked in and moved to the line for online orders. It was as simple as picking up an everything bagel and butter from her favorite cafe.

Art beelined to the ATM. He explained before they arrived that although weed was legal in California, credit cards were subject to federal law, so the pot shops remained cash-based. The line between legal and illegal, depending on the state and age, was hard to keep up with. Was this right or wrong?

She meandered over to the wall displaying pipes and bubblers in various sizes, shapes, and colors. A handwritten note card accompanied most. She crouched to an opal pipe made of thick glass with fuzzy purple clouds inside. The notecard read:

Tako Glass

$325

Standing back, she folded her arms in examination. While she wouldn't purchase it, she respected an artist with a niche.

Art approached a pretty woman at the checkout counter. Amelia would have bet that the clerk would be an older man with dreadlocks and a tie-dye shirt. The budtender, as Art referred to the cashier, wore a thin smile and neutral eyeliner.

Amelia busied herself inspecting a pumpkin-shaped bong as Art pulled out his fake ID and cash. The woman paused, and Amelia’s eyes flicked toward them. She swallowed, her chest tightening at the budtender’s delay.

“Bummer, you just missed your birthday,” the woman finally said, handing the ID back to him and packing up his items in a brown bag. “You get a 25% discount that day.”

He laughed and ran a hand through his wavy hair. “Oh man, thanks for the heads up.”

Art took his change and shoved the bag in his backpack. It was not what Amelia had expected at all.

Outside on the sidewalk, Amelia’s curiosity rose. “Do you get the same thing every time?”

She tucked a piece of loose hair behind her ear.

Art chuckled. “I don’t remember what the hell I get from one week to the next.” He tightened his grip on the backpack straps. “I tend to go for an Indica-dominated hybrid.”

At her puzzled face, he explained, “Indica is a body high. It makes you feel more stoned. Sativa is the other option. It’s more in your mind.” He tapped the side of his head. “You feel more high than stoned.”

Up until now, the terms stoned and high were interchangeable.

Art was still talking, and she strained to absorb the information.

“I enjoy the Sativa-dominant hybrid. But I also want the highest amount of TCH. Not only for the high, but it guarantees that there’s not a bunch of other shit in it like pesticides.”

“There are pesticides?” Her face twisted in disgust.