“My parents are watching my credit card and every dollar I spend. I would never be able to explain it.”
Tamara rolls her eyes. “Oh, and I could?”
It’s rare that we fight—at best we just avoid confrontation, letting steam blow over. Okay, so maybe asking her to commit a federal crime is a bit too much, but . . . her annoyance is unwarranted.
“But it’s not even a big deal!”
“It is! And what’s the rush?”
Oh, nothing, just crazy-ass dreams and night stalkers outside our house keeping me up at night. No biggie.
The door clicks, creaking open. I’ve grown accustomed to the creepiness . . . until it slams shut.
“Shit! What was that?” Tamara gasps, straining to see behind me.
Buddy jumps up and growls, his fur fluffed up. My eyes flicker from him to the door and back.
“I . . . I don’t know,” I mutter. “One sec.”
It’s quiet in the hall, as it should be at two a.m. All the bedroom doors are closed and I didn’t feel a draft. I test the knob, inspecting the latch. Opening on its own is one thing, but slamming shut . . . makes no sense.
Buddy sniffs, trotting around in a circle, following his nose into the bathroom. The smell is back, the one from the kitchen, but not as strong. Is it drifting up?
Ugh! I don’t have time for this!
I have more important priorities, weed being one of them.
“Everything okay?” Tamara asks.
“Um, yeah,” I say, closing the door. “Anyways, so what do you think?”
“I don’t know, Mari. I can get into a lot of trouble.”
“I’m not asking you to send me a pack of blunts. Just some seeds! Pretend they’re sunflowers or tulips if it makes you feel any better.” I head straight to the punch. “Tamara, I need this. It’s better than any other alternatives. Do you really want me to backslide? After everything that’s happened?”
Tamara takes a deep breath.
Okay, I know it’s hella shitty for me to guilt my best friend like this, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
“Fine. Where should I send it?”
I give her the address to the library.
“Happy anniversary, babe!”
Alec enters Mom’s office with a huge bouquet of yellow roses.
“Aw, thank you,” she says, kissing him. “My favorite! They’re beautiful.”
He ropes his arms around her. “Not as beautiful as you.”
I want to gag on my guacamole, but honestly, it’s nice to see Mom swept off her feet after two years of being single. As much as I love him, Dad definitely wasn’t husband of the year. Gone months at a time, some would say he loved his job a touch more than being shackled down with a wife and kids. The divorce wasn’t nasty; they were friends before and worked better that way, so his absence didn’t faze me much. At that point, I was used to FaceTiming him on the road. Plus, there were Percs to keep me company. It didn’t occur to me until much later that the only person who really felt they lost something . . . was Sammy.
Piper walks into the kitchen carrying her My Little Pony lunch box. She glares at Mom and Alec in the office, hesitates, then, surprisingly, resists the urge to break up their lovefest. Instead, she stomps over, laying her box open on the counter.
“Running away?” I joke.
She narrows her eyes at me before opening the fridge.
“Ready to go? Reservation is in twenty minutes,” Alec says to Mom.
Piper proceeds to put cookies, chips, cucumber slices, juice boxes, and Lunchables in her box, packing them neat and orderly. She then takes two teacups and saucers out of the cabinet.
Mom laughs. “I told you, you didn’t have to come home. I would’ve met you there.”
“Nope. Definitely picking up my girl and taking her on a proper date!”
“I was homeless, smoking the crack. Was strung out for ten years. I prayed for a miracle. That’s when I called Reverend Clark and ordered his FREE Holy Seeds. I planted them seeds in front of a home I wanted and it’s like they grew overnight, they grew so tall. Two weeks later, the deed to that house was in my hands and I never touched the devil’s candy again! Praise be to God.”
I whip around. “Dude, turn that off!”
Sammy, sitting on the sofa, stares transfixed at the TV. “You missed it—a man just got up from his wheelchair and started break-dancing. The seeds cured him!”
Mom gushes as they step out of the office. Her hair is done up in a high bun, and she has on her favorite red dress with heels.
“Thanks, Mari, for watching the kids tonight. There’ll be a little extra in your allowance this week.”
“Oh goodie,” I quip. “I can buy myself a cookie at school.”
“Smart ass,” she says, biting back a grin, then notices Piper’s precision packing. “Piper, whatcha doing, sweetie? Where are you off to with my good teacups?”
She stops to face them and, in all seriousness, says, “I’m having a tea party with Ms. Suga.”
“Ohhh,” Mom says with a nod, winking at Alec. “Of course. Well, would you like more snacks for your party? I made some hummus earlier.”
“No,” she seethes. “Ms. Suga doesn’t like bird food.”
Mom blinks as Piper slams her box shut, balances the cups, and walks off.
We turn to Alec, waiting for an explanation.
“Uh, sorry,” he says with a laugh. “She’s very particular about her tea party menu.”
If our house is 214 Maple Street, and the house on the corner is 218 Maple, that means the house next door is 216 Maple Street and the house across the street must be 217. So the one on the opposite corner must be 219.
219 Maple Street is the only vacant house on our block that seems to have a decent roof that won’t cave when you throw a rock at it, a secluded backyard shrouded by tall trees, and most of its windows still intact. The corner gives several access points, easy to sneak in and out without being seen.
Carrying my new tools, I weave through the thick bushes, climbing over the broken fence to the back door, cracked open. I step inside a trashed kitchen and listen.
“Hello?” I call out, learning my lesson from that day with Sammy. “Helllooooo!”
Silence. The room is riddled with chips of plaster and dry caked mud. The cabinet doors are ripped off their rusted hinges, an iron sink on the floor, the walls kelly green, stained with mildew. It’s warm, humid, the air stale. Sunlight hitting the glass creates a greenhouse effect.
Just what I need.
Without time to spare, I drag my supplies inside.
Every online article I read on how to grow cannabis advised to use containers, for a more controlled environment. I created ones out of old two-liter soda bottles, stuffed them into the 5 x 5 flower bed I built after my morning runs, using old boards and rusted nails. Almost broke my back sneaking across the street with the two bags of plant food Yusef gave me, blending it in with the rest of the trash until I was ready to use it. Germinating the seeds under my bed was risky, considering how nosy Buddy can be.
But it’ll all be worth it.
As I give the seedlings, now planted in their new home, a healthy drink of water, I take a look around the place. A woman definitely lived here, maybe even alone, judging by the once-pink sofa, flowery frames, and array of broken porcelain dolls. A cracked ornate mirror sits above the fireplace, and despite the chipping white paint and thick dust, I recognize the same intricate mantel, like the one in our house with the strange family crest.