High Times, chapter 3
"You did WHAT?!!!"
I cringed, pulling the phone away from my ear, "Jesus, Sandra! There's no need to scream." (Sandra was my best friend back home in Massachusetts. We keep in touch using weekly phone calls—she tells me what's going on in MA, I tell her what I'm up to in Rodeo.)
"I can't believe you got high! Stacy what were you thinking?!" I sighed, I knew she wouldn't approve.
"It's not that big of a deal Sandra—it was kind of fun actually."
"What is wrong with you? Marijuana is illegal!" I inwardly cursed myself for telling her, I had forgotten how sheltered and goody-goody she was (I attended an all-girl Catholic school for ten years with her back in Massachusetts. It's required that you have to be a good girl there, or they'll kick you out and you'll have to go to the—gasp—public school.)
"Calm down Sandra. I'm alive, not in jail—everything is fine," I promised her. Through the phone I could hear her hyperventilating.
"I knew those guys you started hanging out with were going to be a bad influence on you. They're going to ruing you life Stacy." I rolled my eyes at this. Sandra had a tendency to be over-dramatic. I listened to her lecture on the perils of weed for the next fifteen minutes before telling her I had to get ready for church.
"Good. Go to church and repent for your sins," she told me.
"Bye Sandra," I replied wryly. Trying to remember what I ever had in common with that girl, I grabbed my keys off my dresser and headed out of the house. I needed a walk to clear my head.
It was a fairly warm Sunday morning in November and not many people were out. Most were in church—including my parents. I got out of going by feigning a migraine. I loathe church, its one of the things I discovered at St. Margaret's Academy for Girls. Ten years at that school taught me two things: I'm an atheist, and girls are bitchy. As I walked, I allowed my mind to drift back to the months before.
I hadn't really fit in at St. Margaret's. I was quiet and serious—always striving to get the top grade. The academics there weren't extremely difficult, but my parents pressured me to always go above and beyond. They didn't want me ending up like my hippie sister Rachel, who joined the Peace Corps as soon as she graduated. We haven't seen her in two years and our only source of communication with her were her monthly letters. I saw how disappointed my parents were that she didn't go to college, and did my best to make it up to them. I did whatever they told me to do, just so they'd be happy. Then I realized that I myself wasn't happy.
My dad found out he was getting transferred in May and we arrived here in Rodeo, California at the beginning of August. I spent the few weeks before school started exploring the town and helping decorate the house. I vowed that when sophomore year began, I wasn't going to go back to the same old Stacy. I wouldn't try to please everyone and I would do things I actually wanted to do for once. God, I needed some excitement in my life!
I met Mike, Billie, and Ian my first day at Pinole Valley High. In an attempt to avoid the embarrassment of having to eat lunch alone in the cafeteria, I went to eat in the band room. I had had band class earlier in the day (I play trumpet and piano) and the teacher told me I could come any time if I wanted to rehearse. I quickly finished my meager lunch and sat down at the piano. In the middle of a jazz version of "Hey Jude", a kid fell on me, almost smashing my face into the keys.
"Oh shit! I'm so sorry!" The kid--a tall gangly boy with curly brown hair--exclaimed. He picked himself off of me and gazed at me apologetically.
"It's cool," I assured him, "no harm done."
He stuck out his hand, "I'm Ian. Sorry for almost killing you, blame it on the two douchebags laughing behind me."
I grinned and shook his hand, "I'm Stacy." Over his shoulder I could see the two boys he had referred to. They were laughing hysterically, leaning on each other for support.
Ian joined me on the piano bench and fake-whispered into my ear, "They're secret lovers."
"Fuck off Ian!" one of the boys snapped. He was short and slight, with wavy reddish brown hair and chubby cheeks.
"Hey man, you guys shouldn't have shoved me into the poor girl," Ian retorted.
"You said you wanted to meet the chick playing the Beatles," the second boy replied, smirking. He was as tall as Ian, with long blonde hair and bright blue eyes.
"Yeah, meet her—not crush her, asshole." I laughed and waved to the two who were now glaring at Ian.
"If I may interrupt, I'm Stacy."
"They call me Mike," the blonde one replied, bowing dramatically.
The shorter one rolled his eyes, "I'm Billie Joe. I don't bow, sorry."
"Nice to meet you," I told them, enjoying their antics. Ian wrapped his arm around me and beamed happily.
"I can tell this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."
Coming back from my trip down memory lane I looked up to see that I had reached the highway. "Shit," I muttered irritably. Somehow I had managed to walk ten mile without noticing. Groaning, I sat down on a bench nearby--might as well rest up for the long walk home. Five minutes later a dingy brown sedan pulled up in front of me. Mike stuck his head out of the passenger side window and grinned evilly at me.
"Get in."
I cringed, pulling the phone away from my ear, "Jesus, Sandra! There's no need to scream." (Sandra was my best friend back home in Massachusetts. We keep in touch using weekly phone calls—she tells me what's going on in MA, I tell her what I'm up to in Rodeo.)
"I can't believe you got high! Stacy what were you thinking?!" I sighed, I knew she wouldn't approve.
"It's not that big of a deal Sandra—it was kind of fun actually."
"What is wrong with you? Marijuana is illegal!" I inwardly cursed myself for telling her, I had forgotten how sheltered and goody-goody she was (I attended an all-girl Catholic school for ten years with her back in Massachusetts. It's required that you have to be a good girl there, or they'll kick you out and you'll have to go to the—gasp—public school.)
"Calm down Sandra. I'm alive, not in jail—everything is fine," I promised her. Through the phone I could hear her hyperventilating.
"I knew those guys you started hanging out with were going to be a bad influence on you. They're going to ruing you life Stacy." I rolled my eyes at this. Sandra had a tendency to be over-dramatic. I listened to her lecture on the perils of weed for the next fifteen minutes before telling her I had to get ready for church.
"Good. Go to church and repent for your sins," she told me.
"Bye Sandra," I replied wryly. Trying to remember what I ever had in common with that girl, I grabbed my keys off my dresser and headed out of the house. I needed a walk to clear my head.
It was a fairly warm Sunday morning in November and not many people were out. Most were in church—including my parents. I got out of going by feigning a migraine. I loathe church, its one of the things I discovered at St. Margaret's Academy for Girls. Ten years at that school taught me two things: I'm an atheist, and girls are bitchy. As I walked, I allowed my mind to drift back to the months before.
I hadn't really fit in at St. Margaret's. I was quiet and serious—always striving to get the top grade. The academics there weren't extremely difficult, but my parents pressured me to always go above and beyond. They didn't want me ending up like my hippie sister Rachel, who joined the Peace Corps as soon as she graduated. We haven't seen her in two years and our only source of communication with her were her monthly letters. I saw how disappointed my parents were that she didn't go to college, and did my best to make it up to them. I did whatever they told me to do, just so they'd be happy. Then I realized that I myself wasn't happy.
My dad found out he was getting transferred in May and we arrived here in Rodeo, California at the beginning of August. I spent the few weeks before school started exploring the town and helping decorate the house. I vowed that when sophomore year began, I wasn't going to go back to the same old Stacy. I wouldn't try to please everyone and I would do things I actually wanted to do for once. God, I needed some excitement in my life!
I met Mike, Billie, and Ian my first day at Pinole Valley High. In an attempt to avoid the embarrassment of having to eat lunch alone in the cafeteria, I went to eat in the band room. I had had band class earlier in the day (I play trumpet and piano) and the teacher told me I could come any time if I wanted to rehearse. I quickly finished my meager lunch and sat down at the piano. In the middle of a jazz version of "Hey Jude", a kid fell on me, almost smashing my face into the keys.
"Oh shit! I'm so sorry!" The kid--a tall gangly boy with curly brown hair--exclaimed. He picked himself off of me and gazed at me apologetically.
"It's cool," I assured him, "no harm done."
He stuck out his hand, "I'm Ian. Sorry for almost killing you, blame it on the two douchebags laughing behind me."
I grinned and shook his hand, "I'm Stacy." Over his shoulder I could see the two boys he had referred to. They were laughing hysterically, leaning on each other for support.
Ian joined me on the piano bench and fake-whispered into my ear, "They're secret lovers."
"Fuck off Ian!" one of the boys snapped. He was short and slight, with wavy reddish brown hair and chubby cheeks.
"Hey man, you guys shouldn't have shoved me into the poor girl," Ian retorted.
"You said you wanted to meet the chick playing the Beatles," the second boy replied, smirking. He was as tall as Ian, with long blonde hair and bright blue eyes.
"Yeah, meet her—not crush her, asshole." I laughed and waved to the two who were now glaring at Ian.
"If I may interrupt, I'm Stacy."
"They call me Mike," the blonde one replied, bowing dramatically.
The shorter one rolled his eyes, "I'm Billie Joe. I don't bow, sorry."
"Nice to meet you," I told them, enjoying their antics. Ian wrapped his arm around me and beamed happily.
"I can tell this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."
Coming back from my trip down memory lane I looked up to see that I had reached the highway. "Shit," I muttered irritably. Somehow I had managed to walk ten mile without noticing. Groaning, I sat down on a bench nearby--might as well rest up for the long walk home. Five minutes later a dingy brown sedan pulled up in front of me. Mike stuck his head out of the passenger side window and grinned evilly at me.
"Get in."
