The Girl smoking a Cigarette

I normally hate the smell of cigarettes, but something is keeping me from leaving you and I’m not quite sure what. You lit it so delicately, draping your arm over my shoulder as you take a quick hit of the tobacco, blowing the smoke out of your mouth in a perfect ring. I drape my arm around your knee, focusing intently on the cigarette, the way your corduroy skirt rises up your leg when you sit down.

My dad used to smoke cigarettes on the porch of our old house. He’d sit on the wooden steps, like you and I, except he never had company. My mom would roll her eyes and my dog would howl – I don’t know who he stopped for.

You convinced me to throw a party last year when we were moving out. Our plastic cups made a tapping noise as the rims just barely touched and I took my first sip of a vodka-soda. It tasted terrible.

The kids in middle school used to spread rumors about us being lesbians. You always thought it was the funniest thing in the world. My mother said that she didn’t care, as long as I wasn’t one of the kids who smoked in the bathroom during lunch.

When I was seven I used to play in our backyard while our good friend Kenny would watch over me, a beer in one hand and a cigarette in another. I never liked Kenny much. He would watch me too intently, as if I were about to disappear.

Last week you asked if you could look at my math problems because you had a date with Nick and couldn’t get the homework done. I let you.

When my dad left you were the first person I called. You came to my house at an ungodly speed – I couldn’t stop thinking about how far above the speed limit you went just to get to me. I cried for hours while my mom sat alone in her room. You ran your long purple nails through my hair and down my back, and for a moment the muscles pressing against my spine and my sternum relaxed. A week later Andrew asked to me to go outside to smoke a cigarette with him. It was your birthday party, and you watched us leave. I didn’t want to smoke, so he lit up by himself. The rings he blew were sloppy, and the entire time I thought about the black satin dress and sharp eyeliner you were wearing. I had told you that you should wear the velvet emerald dress since it brought out your eyes, but you said it wasn’t slutty enough. Andrew’s mouth tasted like dirt when we kissed and my teeth felt black. Brady Luck

Her Maddi Condon (she/her)

Fountain of Youth

Fallon Jones (she/her)

The day before, I had cut my hair

Just pieces, I wanted a little something to pull out of a ponytail

Maybe fifty strands in total

The bunch easily slid down the drain

An afterthought as I was running out. When the FaceTime switched to connecting I propped up the phone poised to say hello

And with it still in my mouth

You said you liked my haircut.

Madison McDowell (she/her)