I Could’ve Been Friends with a Pot Head

“What are you listening to?” He reached over to grab my earbuds and I yanked my MP3 player away. I was listening to J-pop and I definitely didn’t want anyone to know. My graduating class only had about 3-4 other Asians, all of them either international or American. Very American.

“It’s nothing,” I said quickly.

“What, what is it? I just want to know.” He was known to be a smooth talker, smoked a lot. The way his eyelids drooped told you all you needed to know. He had a thing for one of my best friends at the time (she always rejected him), but I didn’t know if he felt that way anymore. At Homecoming, he took my hand and danced with me– my first dance with a guy ever–

“I don’t know how to dance.”

“It’s fine, just follow my lead.” Why? I’m guessing something in his kush made him see me as a unicorn princess. Why else would he pay attention to me? I wore a chocolate rain colored dress and my foundation didn’t match my skin. It had to have been something in the kush.

He raised a brow. “Is it something embarrassing?”

“Uhh, kind of.”

“It can’t be that bad.” You have no idea. I shook my head and declined his offer of friendship. “Alright.” He scoffed, slid off my desk, and went off to talk to other people.


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