How to Live Hardly

I stare at the fog on my front and passenger windows. I want so bad to roll them down and back up, but I know the fog would just collect again and I’d be more annoyed. Stupid condensation. Peering ahead, I see Smoky exit the alleyway in a gray hoodie and sagging jeans. By the time he reaches my car, I’m already getting the words out.

“Why can’t they invent windshield wipers for dang windows? Window wipers! Jesus, I have an Impala. It’s 2018. You’d think...”

That’s when the door shuts, and I look a stranger in the face. My hand reaches towards the knife in my cargo shorts.

“You’re not Smoky,” I manage, barely holding a poker face.

“I’m surprised you can tell the difference,” the stranger says, pulling his hood off and adjusting his durag. “Saw your lil’ tweet.”

A few weeks ago, I had tweeted that it’s hard to make friends and remember names in a black neighborhood because all colored people look the same. It went almost viral with hate. Call me racist or whatever, but you know it’s true, and not just with black people. I’m pretty sure they’re using the same Asian girl in like every movie, and people just accept it because another actor would look the same anyways.

The stranger takes out his phone and starts stroking his beard, checking out his reflection in the camera.

“Get out of my car,” I command. “I only deal with Smoky.”

“Well Smoky not here. Give me what I came for and maybe I’ll tell him not to beat yo a-”

“What do you mean he’s not here?” I demand. The stranger looks at me like I’m crazy for interrupting him, but I’m sure I’d heard something in his voice when he talked about Smoky.

“Is something going on?” I press.

The dealer pauses for a second, looking out through the foggy windshield as if he had the same questions as I did. “The green. Now.”

I reach into my backpack, pulling two tight rolls of green from the bottom. The stranger unravels and counts the money, pissing me off by licking his finger every five seconds.

“I’m Kick.” He finally says, stowing the money in his pocket. “Expect me for the next few months.”

Kick pulls a tube of Pringles from his gigantic hoodie pocket, handing it over to me. I open it and my mouth nearly waters. Enough Bull’s Eye to bring MJ back to life.

“We’re good,” I announce.

As Kick is leaving, I pull out my phone and text Lo.

Headed to your place now. Got the chipotle.

Guac? He texts back immediately.

I roll my eyes. Nah dude I spent enough already. gomd.

Whatever. You stopping?

No stops. See you soon.

I turn DNCE’s latest album up to the loudest in my car and zoom out of downtown, singing along and rocking my head back and forth. My blond hair breaks free from the man bun, but I don’t care.

“WITH THAT BODY, YOU’VE GOT THE RIGHT TO BE NAUGHTY” I shout, pitchy and passionate. “SO, BE MEAN BE MEAN TO ME! BE MEAN TO ME!”

It goes on like this for the 10 minutes I’m driving to Darewells, people giving me the side-eye at red lights. I even caught a kid recording me from the backseat of his mom’s car, which just made me rock out harder.

I don’t turn the music down until I finally get to the gate and roll down the window. “Nine, two, four, eight, Gray,” I project from the driver’s side.

The security machine glows green on its tiny screen, and tall white gates rumble open. I pull into Darewells and make a left and two rights, turning into Lo’s driveway.

The thing with gated communities is this: Every single house is huge and beautiful. Everyone who lives in them is rich, and you can assume that while these people may be rich for different reasons, they probably all get along and level with each other.

But that’s not the case with Darewells Community. The Grand Darewells Estate (yeah, that’s literally what it’s called) is where Lo lives. His dad is David Darewells, filthy rich because he and his wife own a brewery, which is annoying because barely any of their product stays here in Florida. As if we don’t want a taste too! Anyways, their house makes all the other houses look below average; because it’s huge and structured like the headquarters of Google had a baby with a modern Greek village. In the morning light, with its beige, gold and white, it kind of looks like how artists paint heaven. Everywhere there are circular roofs, pillars, sectioned off smaller buildings that look like apartment complexes in the city. The lawn has close-cropped grass with a giant fountain in the center of the front yard. No trees, only hibiscus bushes everywhere because Lo’s dad is obsessed with the idea that they create an edible nectar. They became the family’s favorite flower.

The place was so big that both Lo and his twin sister Brandy had their own houses adjoined to the main mansion that they moved into when they turned 16. Lo’s dad had a technology professional come in and attach the houses to this new program they created. It’s supposed to simulate bills and fees for everything Lo and Brandy do or use. So, when they get allowances, they have to pretend to pay bills to their dad so that they knew “how to manage wealth” when they got older. It was a crazy rad idea if you asked me, but Lo wouldn’t agree.

I get out of the car and walk up to Lo’s front door, clutching my backpack with a particularly important tube of chips in it. I ring the doorbell on his wooden door a few times, hoping it’ll be loud enough over the sound of classical music. He finally opens the door in nothing but blue boxer briefs. Against his shaven and smooth dark-brown skin, the pop of color makes him look like one of those token diversity underwear models.

“Sexy, right?” He smirks.

“It makes your legs look bigger,” I walk past him, throwing the backpack onto his couch and grabbing the TV remote.

“That’s not the only thing I’m tryna make look bigger,” Lo jokes from behind me. “I wanna get Brittany in these ones.”

“Bro, put some clothes on. And Brittany’s a gold digger, she’d totally let you hit.” I say. “And why do you listen to this Orchestra stuff every morning?”

“It enhances brain performance and helps with regulating mood,” he quotes it with his index finger up and in perfect grammar, mimicking his dad. We both laugh. “Aight dawg, imma get dressed. You eat yet?” he asks.

“I always have space if you have waffles,” I answer.

“Nigga, you like that lil’ girl from Stranger Things with them powers, yo.” He says, headed to his bedroom. “There’s some in the freezer.”

“Whatever,” I laugh. I head into the kitchen with my backpack, take the drugs out, and stuff it with two full boxes of Eggo’s. Lo won’t even miss it. Then I take two out to toast them. When I’m done, I drench them in syrup. My liver and pancreas both silently flick me off for all the diabetic trouble I’m going to cause them in the future.

Just as I’m finding some decent reality TV to watch, Lo comes back in shorts and a tank top. He sits across from me on the couch, picking up the can of Bull’s Eye and emptying it out across his table.

“Yo, we need to change them cover words soon,” Lo asserts.

“Does it matter?” My attention is still halfway on this episode of Mythbusters and my plate of sloppy Eggo’s.

“Yeah.” Lo says, matter-of-factly. “Man, I’m brushing my teeth at 7:30 in the morning on a Saturday and you texting me about Chipotle. It’s sus.”

“If you didn’t have so much dang programs and systems and guards around here we wouldn’t need to be so quiet about everything,” I counter.

“These guards the only reason you safe.” Lo informs. “Niggas after us. What the hell was you thinking with that tweet?”

“Man, you of all people know I was just playing around.” I laugh nervously. “I deleted it, man, it was wrong to say it.” Like hell it was wrong to say it.

“Just chill out on social media man. And keep them attitudes from around this house. Brandy crazy with that stuff.”

If I knew that a lecture was waiting for me at the Darewells Estate, I would have gone home and gotten high by myself.

“Okay, what words are we thinking about?” Just as I ask him, Lo’s phone rings.

“Who could possibly be calling you this early on a Saturday?” I tease.

I know it’s Brandy. Lo’s sister is always up before him, scrolling through her YouTube comments and answering emails at the crack of dawn. She usually has her hair wrapped and her face covered in avocado mush.

“The new video is trending boy I’m famous!” Brandy yells as soon as Lo picks up.

“We already famous,” Lo smiles.

“No, we ain’t. People know Daddy and ‘them kids he got.’ But not no more bruh bruh, seven hundred thousand views in two nights we are SOARING!”

“We?” Lo raises his left eyebrow.

“Oh, it’s a collab. I filmed with Tal.”

“SJW Beauty Gurus unite.” I mutter.

“Who was that?” Brandy asks. “Is Gray there?”

“Yeah. You on speakerphone.” Lo looks at me with his don’t say nu’n stupid look, and I roll my eyes.

“What up, white boy?” Brandy jokes.

“When are you gonna have me on your YouTube channel?” I say through a mouthful of waffles.

“Tuh, from Tal to you might be a bit of a step-down, lil dude.” Brandy responds. “Maybe all three of us should work together, and you can try the great and impossible task of distinguishing our faces.”

I don’t answer. I guess she deserves to be mad, but the words still hurt me a little bit. ‘ItsJustTal’ is this mixed-race YouTube girl who’s popular for exactly that reason. She’s got a nice rack on her. Anyways, after the tweet, I’m pretty sure she’d never get near me.

After what feels like 10 seconds Brandy speaks. “Look, I’m sorry. It’s just that-”

“Why don’t you slide this way?” Lo interjects. “I got an idea.”

“It’s 8 in the morning.” She answers.

“Okay, let’s meet up for lunch.” Lo looks at me. “Can you bring Lindy and Adam?”

“Lindy’s working. We can go there, though.” I offer, getting a little excited. Whenever Lo or Brandy choose the place, we always end up eating in some fancy restaurant uptown with a menu I can’t understand and prices I don’t even want to look at. They pay for it all, but it’s still a little uncomfortable, especially for Adam, while they’re talking to all their rich friends and ordering rounds of food they don’t finish. But Lindy works at Taco Bell. My kind of spot.

“I ain’t bout no three-day-old bean dip and oil,” Lo complains.

“Don’t be that guy, Lowy,” Brandy pleads in a baby voice. “Let’s meet there at 12. Sound good?”

“I can literally see you pinching his cheeks through the phone,” I groan.

Even though they were really different, Lo and Brandy had a crazy close relationship. They were literally like a couple. Not in a gross way, but like, in a way that’s supposed to be cute that I still find gross.

“See you boys later!” Brandy sings. When she hangs up the phone, Lo sucks his teeth.

“Frickin’ Taco Bell,” he curses.

***

As I’m nearing the area of Adam’s corner, a long way out from Lo’s, I get nervous and stop downtown. I consider calling him, but I hate telling Adam that I’m afraid of his neighborhood. He was one of only seven white people in his entire crime-ridden part of town.

I breathe out. Grow a pair, I think to myself. I turn the keys in the ignition and pull out of the old hotel parking lot. After three DNCE songs, I turn off the main road into the Slope, which is what thugs named this area. It was so infamous for its gradually descending road of houses and shops that people forgot its original name.

I inch into Adam’s driveway, get out of the car and walk towards his door. I don’t look left or right. When I knock, it’s hard and urgent.

“A-Adam,” I call.

His house is a shade of blue tarnished by water damage and the cheapness of the paint. The pillars on his front porch have been eaten away at by insects, and the metal bases are rusted red. I look around, and many houses look the same. Kids throw a basketball back and forth on a court, laughing and chasing each other with it because the rim has been ripped away from the pole. A brown-skinned lady is washing her clothes in a bucket and smiles courteously at me. I wave back, and behind her, three tall guys exit the side of a house. Sagging jeans and diamond earrings.

“Adam!” I slam on the door three times.

When I look back again, the guys have gotten in a car and driven away. I don’t have time to sigh of relief before the door swings open, revealing a thin brunette woman in her 40s.

“Ms. Gordon!” I facepalm. “I’m so sorry, did I wake you up?”

“It’s okay, Grayson.” She gives me a sympathetic but tired smile. “Adam’s in his room.”

I walk through Adam’s tiny house and into his bedroom. Everywhere there is cracked walls and ripped furniture, but it’s also perfectly clean. There were no family pictures, just wall hangings of art and fake ornaments. Adam once told me they didn’t keep personal things out in the open because if there was a burglary, they didn’t want to chance losing anything. I get to his room, expecting him to be cleaning as usual, but instead, find him sleeping with his face in a pile of homework. He looks so carefree when he’s asleep, not like the overbearing dad he is in real life. I look at his walls, two DNCE posters, one with a signature. There’s a bunch of stuff from Andy Mineo, Tori Kelly, and some other obscure Christian couple who makes music together. His old acoustic guitar from his grandad is sitting in a blue and beige rocking chair, also from his grandad. There was an energy drink can sitting on his old desk, and I consider pouring the last of its contents on Adam’s face. Then I think of a better idea. I grab his guitar, position my fingers over the C chord, and belt the first line of "Pay My Rent" at the top of my lungs. Adam shoots straight up, his red eyes filled with shock.

“Aaaagubugaaahhh-” he tries, then notices me grabbing my stomach in a laughing fit. Score one for Gray. “Ugh.” He slumps back on to his bed, his face away from me. “Get out of my house.”

Adam is my closest, oldest friend. We shared a bully growing up and lived in the same neighborhood. Then, everything kind of collapsed at once. In the first year of middle school, the bank took Adam’s house. His dad was no good, so 11-year-old Adam had to put his mom and little sister back together piece by piece after his piss bucket of a father moved away and left them a few hundred bucks. They moved into the Slope, and for a while, school was the only place we hung out. But one day soon after, Adam and I got beaten up so bad in the locker room, that I brought two knives to school the next day. I got expelled, moved to a Christian private school, and we cried like sissies in my mom’s car when we realized that we would never see each other again.

A few months later, Adam came to my house. He said he couldn’t afford a phone, but that his mom had finally bought a computer for him and his little sister. He gave me his email, and for a long time, that’s the only way we communicated. My dad pastored a huge conservative church; so, my parents were even more afraid of the Slope than I was. Adam couldn’t always catch the bus over to my place because he worked all the time and was always watching his sister. I’ll be honest, some days I missed Adam so much I would turn on rock bands on the TV in my living room and dance to them, pretending to let him choose the next song by clicking something he would like.

Finally, high school rolled around, and I convinced my parents to let me get a job at a shipping company because I knew Adam worked there. Oh man, the look on his face when I showed up in those ugly overalls! We went back to being inseparable, then Adam turned into a control freak. I became friends with Lo and Brandy, whose lifestyle he disliked from the beginning. I started smoking, which is the last thing that should bother him considering The Slope’s morning fog is 60 percent weed. The one thing that keeps us close is DNCE, a pop band we discovered two years ago, saw on tour, and fantasize about performing with.

Snapping me back into reality, Adam murmurs, “What time is it?”

“11 AM, buddy.” I get up from his chair and walk over to his dresser, throwing him a fresh pair of underwear. “We’re meeting everyone at the Bell in an hour. Wanna get ready at my place?”

He sits up and runs his hand through his dark brown hair. “I have a shift at 2.” He says.

“I’ll drop you.” I offer.

“Alright, fine.”

“I brought you a gift,” I smirk. Reaching into my bag, I pull out the frozen red and yellow boxes.

“Oh, heck yeah!” Adam’s eyes finally light up through the fog of sleep. “Gray, you have been sent to the heavens for a lowly soul like me. I love you man, Ari has been complaining for the past week about eating tuna fish for breakfast.”

I smile. “Don’t tell your mom, you know how she gets.”

“I think I know how my own mom gets.” He says. “Thanks, man.”

“Let’s hit the road,” I rush him. “Why are you still sitting down?”

“Well see, there’s this thing that happens to guys in the mornings, and although I’m very excited about the waffles, I don’t think you’d want to see just how excited-”

“Whatever,” I laugh. “Gay.”

***

When we pull into Taco Bell, I realize we’d been so busy talking, we hadn’t even listened well to Joe Jonas belting his melodies about partying.

“Look, all I’m saying is that if Wanda could stop imagining Vision between her legs just for a second then maybe she wouldn’t have such a problem killing him. Then Ugly Purple wouldn’t have been able to get the stone.” I lecture.

“First of all, we’re way too old to still be calling Thanos 'Ugly Purple.' And why do you always see love as a weakness?” He whines.

Is he serious? “Because that’s literally what it is! That’s what the movie portrayed it as, open your eyes! C’mon, Adam, you’re smarter than me.”

“No, no, no. We’re all so brainwashed.” He’s slamming his palms together now, how he gets when he’s about to school someone. “People are human! They have feelings. To call love a weakness is to make the crisis the main premise, therefore making love the second, less important force, which is exactly anti-human.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Well, you’re basically saying that ‘Hey, Vision needs to be killed to stop a bad guy, but to our grave misfortune, he’s in love with the girl that has to kill him.’ Can’t the story be, ‘Vision is in love with Wanda, but unfortunately, she has to kill him?’”

I say nothing.

“Love has to come first. Every outside problem poses a threat to love, not the other way around,” Adam concludes.

“You are so dang corny.”

“I am so dang right.”

Just then, my phone rings, and I answer it. Through the aux, Lindy teases, “What about the Bell’s parking lot makes you think, ‘Wow, I wanna sit here, burn air conditioning in my Impala, and just talk like the bros we are?’”

“Stalker,” Adam says.

“It’s not hard to spot you. You guys coming inside or what?” She asks. “I don’t get a lot of time for break.”

“Can’t you petition that crap? You’re always complaining about it,” I mutter.

“Capitalism bites.” She responds.

“As the poor guy in our group,” Adam inputs, “I’m all the way down for a socialist economy.”

“As the poor guy in our group, you’re all the way down for anything.” Lindy retorts.

“Anda a cagar, mi amiga,” Adam spits. I snicker.

Lindy is Mexican, but Adam knows more Spanish than her. She’s super disconnected from Hispanic culture because she was adopted by a white couple. It was one big irony that she ended up working at Taco Bell, which is the most fitting punchline for a Hispanic-but-disconnected-from-Hispanic-culture joke.

When we all get inside, Lo and Brandy pull up in their matching black and baby blue Cadillacs. I didn’t even know they made baby blue Cadillacs until Brandy got hers.

When they get inside to our table, Lindy stretches her hands and raises a fake smile dramatically, “SO, two rich twins walk into a Taco Bell. What do the twins say to their friends?”

“What?” Lo humors.

“We drive Cadillacs.”

“Jesus, Lindy.” Brandy sighs.

“Meh,” Lindy shrugs. “I thought it would be so bad that you’d laugh.”

“Aiming below the bar is for men, sweetheart,” she hugs her. “Only they can get away with it.”

“Do I sense a double meaning in there?” Adam asks.

Brandy is busy making a duck face into the recording Lo is taking with his iPhone.

“I luh my friends, y’all,” he cackles into the Snapchat video.

Lindy calls a friend over and asks her to get our usuals, and Brandy goes on a rant about specifics and details while Adam just asks her to double his regular and with waters instead of a fountain drink. I’ve known him long enough to know that means he’s taking it home to his family.

When my Crunchwrap comes, I pray to whoever’s up there and dig in. Nothing like trashy fast food at noon.

Lo’s already halfway through his food. He drinks from his Root Beer and burps.

“We here to discuss some business.” He says.

“That’s a fairly ambiguous statement,” Lindy says.

“Just hear him out,” I say.

“So, Lights and Spirits is this coming weekend. How huge would it be if we flicked them off and didn’t show up?” Lo smiles hungrily, like the villain in a kids’ movie.

“Boy, you crazy?!” Brandy exclaims. “Daddy would kill us. He would kill us.”

“Yo, I got a connection with the office.” Lo is pulling out his phone, showing it to Brandy. “Your panel didn’t make it.”

“What?” Brandy shouts. She’s in full angry black girl mode, snatching the phone and squinting at the screen.

The Lights and Spirits Festival is a huge annual celebration that the entire city goes to. People from other cities in Florida even travel for it. It’s music, politics, comedy, everything you could think of, and it lasts from 8 in the morning to whatever time you’re sober enough to call an Uber home. There’s even a pre-party the Friday before, and all public schools shut down. It’s a huge deal, and Brandy, being the golden Darewells girl she is, does a panel every year. She starts with a music set Lindy always leads, and then goes into her speeches and sketches, trashing conservatives and centrists everywhere. I’m just as surprised as her that the organization stopped kissing her butt long enough to cut her panel.

“Are you kidding me?” Lindy digs her hands through her hair. “I need that money! I’ve been rehearsing with the girls for weeks.”

“So, when the hell was we supposed to know this?” Brandy demands.

“They making the announcement on Tuesday, all the panels and acts and stuff. I’m doing the opener.” Lo shares. “Lindy, your show choir is going up for the jazz set, so technically you still get a chance to-”

“Screw that.” Lindy asserts. At this point, Brandy has gotten up from the table and started angrily making business calls, no doubt to ask Daddy why she can’t have the whole world.

“So, wait. What are you saying?” Adam asks.

“Yo I’m saying, we shouldn’t go at all. Brandy, just please listen up for a sec.” Lo begs.

Brandy hangs the phone up, her face tight with frustration. She looks like she’s trying not to cry.

“Tuesday, the news drops. On Monday, we release a statement that the Darewells twins will have nothing to do with Lights and Spirits this year,” Lo says. “That way, we get ahead of the story, shoot them niggas in the foot. When they release the set list and Brandy’s not there, it look like they wanted us but couldn’t have us.”

“Can’t they also release a statement saying they cut you guys?” I ask.

“Bad PR,” Adam mutters.

“Exactly!” Lo beams. “They won’t do none a that stuff because then it gone look like they bickering with two kids. Reaching to cover they name.”

“Why do you suddenly wanna tear down Lights and Spirits?” Lindy asks.

“Yo, I’m over that junk. My sis works hard. They obviously don’t care. You think I’m gone take another year of them choking me with a gay lookin’ necktie and prim and proper suit? I’m supposed to wake my behind up in the morning to give them a speech about ‘the value of the community’ and the ‘importance of celebration’ while I’m soundin' white with that ignorant script? They don’t celebrate me, and Daddy can’t see that. Ain’t never called me for a hip-hop or rap set, have they?”

None of us say anything, mostly because Lo’s less than popular rap music is a sore spot for him. His dad goes out of his way to make sure Lo’s career interests don’t budge from engineering.

Brandy finally lifts her head out of her hands. “I’m with Lo. Let’s ditch this joint. Black women are always getting-”

“Alright, alright, sis.” Lo interrupts. “Y’all in?”

“I’m in,” I say.

“So am I.” Lindy agrees.

“Adam?” Lo pleads.

“More details.” He answers.

Lo takes another sip of Root Beer, and glances at me, nervous. I know where this is going.

“We have Bull’s Eye.” He announces.

Adam audibly sighs. Lindy scans the room to see if there’s anyone we know. ‘Bull’s Eye’ was this new mixed drug that Lo’s dealers came across somehow, and the high from it apparently hits the spot and gets your heart racing like none other. It’s a little safe to say the name in public because only we and a few others at school call it that or even know about it, but Lindy always panics. Adam says she told him she has an “anxiety disorder,” which is girl code for “I overreact to everything.”

“I’m not interested, Lo,” Adam says.

“Yo, just hear me out, Addy.” He defends. “I know this ain’t your style, you Christian. I respect that. It’s not gone just be us gettin’ high at the 'state.”

Now my interest is piqued. Lo never came up with any ideas but getting high at the Estate.

“I got us a house in Orlando for the weekend. We’ll stack that whole crib up with food and bottles bruh, it’s gone be crazy.” Lo says.

“Ooohhhhhh that’s sick,” I agree.

“Our own little Anti Lights and Spirits. No parties, just us five, doin' our thing, you know? And me and Gray got the Bull’s Eye because this is the perfect time for us all to try it.” Lo offers.

“Try it? You’re going to get high on something you’ve never even taken before?” Adam reprimands. “Lo, come on, I love you too much to condone something like this.”

“Ease up with that L word, bro,” Lo warns.

“I think you should just ease up in general, Adam, it’s not that big a deal,” I say.

Adam sighs again.

“Come on, Adam,” Lindy rubs his arm, and he softens. He’s had a crush on her the past few months, and sometimes I feel like she knows that. “This will be so fun. We work so hard, you know it. If it helps, I’ll stay sober too, so you don’t feel left out.”

“Fine,” he says quietly.

“Awwww,” Brandy coos.

“Oh, hell, it’s happening.” Lo smiles. “We screwing Lights and Spirits and heading to Orlando! Yeah!”

“Yeah!” I yell.

“We just have to get through a week of school,” Brandy groans. “Everyone will be talking about preparations and outfits and pictures.”

“We’re graduating in a few months,” Lindy reminds us. “People are already talking about preparations and outfits and pictures.”

***

On the way home, I try to level with Adam, but I can tell he’s a little annoyed. He’s used to me having his back in situations where he feels uncomfortable, but Lindy has kinda been taking that job from me.

The truth is, what am I supposed to do when me, Brandy, and Lo go to private school, and Adam and Lindy don’t? They get close while I get close to the twins, which is natural. And then Adam comes around acting like it’s crazy that people change. Wasn’t he just all, ‘people are human, they have feelings?’ It seems that sometimes, he doesn’t care about my feelings. He’s Christian, and knows how that makes me feel, but will always talk about it and rub it in my face. Maybe if he would just chill out sometimes, smoke some weed, everyone would be happy. It’s not like I’m asking him to sell his soul.

“Bro, you’re about to pass my corner,” he says, interrupting my thoughts.

“Your mom’s home with Ari right?” I ask. “Wanna spend the night at my house?”

“Um, I don’t know, Gray.”

“We can play video games all night, man. Order in. I won’t even smoke.”

“It’s just that I have church tomorrow.”

“Right.”

“Listen, I really...I don’t know,” he tries.

“Nah, man, it’s okay,” I say. I know he’s either talking about me coming to his church or our friendship. I’m out of energy to deal with either conversation, so I agree to drop him off at his house.

That night, I do everything I offered Adam, except without him. I sulk like I’m in middle school again.