Page 87 of The Last Special Thing

“We could always brew it into a tea?” Max suggested.

“Takes too long,” Art decided for them. Max side-eyed him, but didn’t push it.

Madisson ate a second mushroom from her assortment. Amelia found a similarly sized one. They took turns matching mushrooms until they finished.

When Madisson excused herself to the bathroom, Art winked at Amelia. She tilted her head in confusion. Max was in the kitchen, back turned to them. Art plucked a fat mushroom from the jar and pushed it in front of her. She didn’t move. He put his hands together in a prayer, his mouth downturned.

“Why,” she mouthed.

“Because you’re going to love it.” His voice was soft.

“How do you know?” Her voice wavered.

“Because I know you.”

He did. Better than her parents. Better than anyone outside of Madisson.

“It’s going to be different than acid?” She pushed down the anxiety building in her chest.

“Completely. It’ll be a good trip. I’ll be by your side the whole time. We can do whatever you want.” He leaned closer to her.

She sighed and took the shroom from the table. She chomped quickly as her mouth contorted in repulsion, then stuck her tongue out at him, proof that she had finished them.

“I love you,” he reminded.

“I love you back,” she said with an edge.

Forty-five minutes later, Madisson and Amelia sat on the floor, humming along to the electronic music Max had put on, waiting for the shrooms to digest. Max and Art were on the couch, half focused on a video game while passing the fifth of vodka between them. They were laughing, but Amelia had no idea what about. Her eyes were droopy.

“Ready?” Max asked Madisson as he wiped the vodka off his lip with the back of his hand.

“Yes,” she said with a half-baked smile.

Amelia stood slowly and pushed her hands in the front pocket of her blue UCLA sweatshirt. She could tell the shrooms had grown from her stomach up and into her mind, like a sunflower rising to meet the sun. Contentment and curiosity replaced the resentment of mushrooms. Maybe Art was right. Perhaps this trip would be better. As long as there were no squirrels.

Max flung open the door, ready for a mission. Art missed the step off the doorstep, but played off the movement. She thought they had been drinking evenly, but if there were an opportunity for more, Art would find it. She may have been spoiled, but he was excessive in his own ways.

Clutching his black backpack, dusted from her hike, Art led the girls behind Max. Halfway down the block, Madisson made eye contact with Amelia, nodding ahead at Art’s saunter, and then made a dramatic interpretation, arms swinging wildly and hips swaying with each step.

At the precise imitation, Amelia laughed, hunched at her hips, hands on her thighs, tears spilling from her eyes. This, this pure delight, was what Art had been trying to tell her. After weeks of being at odds with Madisson, this lightness would heal them.

The boys glanced back, then returned to their conversation. They each carried a water bottle, presumably filled with more vodka.

Amelia’s head swirled as they strolled, wanting to cement every beautiful image. It was similar to the acid, but softer. Instead of the chemical drug's intensity, with its sharp colors, this world was pastel. She was a character in a pop-up book. Each block felt like an entirely new page. The bushes and trees were two-dimensional, like an old school Mario game. As if she could push them over and move on to the next scene.

Madisson paused to tuck a flower behind Amelia’s ear, and her heart fluttered at the gesture. Madisson was the type of friend everyone should have. Amelia leaned down and plucked a budding dandelion, swirling with banana yellows and corals. She brushed Madisson’s dark hair back and slipped the flower behind her ear.

They held each other’s gaze and smiled. Madisson brushed her knuckles against Amelia’s cheek. She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t have to. Amelia understood she had been forgiven.

Walking toward the beach, the pop-up page flipped. They passed a green stretch of park with clusters of people. A group of guys threw a Frisbee and dove after it. Kids played tag, and their laughter filled the space. A couple cuddled against a tree stump. This was where Amelia belonged. She could feel it in her bones.

“Boys!” she called ahead. Max and Art pivoted toward her.

“Can we sit here?” She smiled.

The four formed a circle in the lawn, beneath an apricot sun and against the sage-green grass. A breeze brushed against Amelia’s arm. She closed her eyes, inhaling the sweet smell of summer.

A black ant crawled over the zipper of Art’s backpack.