“Yes.” He pressed the lighter to the cigarette. “Okay, then. What do you want to talk about?”

“I... I don't know,” I said. “I mean it's not like I want sparkling conversation....” He raised his eyebrows at me, replacing the lighter. There was something so striking about him. Even the smallest gesture or expression seemed important. “But,” I added, getting back to the point, “I just wondered why you asked me out tonight, if you didn't really want me here. That's all.” He thought about this. “You want to know why I asked you out?”

“Well,” I said, rethinking that. Now I wasn't so sure I wanted the answer to that particular question. “Not necessatily.” He put out the cigarette in the ashtray, then turned a bit so he was facing me. “Do you want me to take you home?” I looked back at the house. It was huge, the windows all lit up, shapes and bodies moving back and forth across the yellow light inside. Every other Saturday night I'd been at a party just like this with Rina, in another part of town, playing quarters and waiting for something to happen. “No,” I said. “I'm fine.”

“All right then,” he said easily, starting up the engine. “I've gotta go by one more place, but that's it. Okay?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Okay.” And he put his hand on my leg, his fingers spread across my knee, as he put the car in gear and drove us away.

The next place was a trailer, out in the country. We crossed over Topper Lake, past the radio towers and several cow pastures before finally turning onto a dirt road so riddled with potholes we slowed to a crawl navigating them. “Lost my tailpipe here last spring,” Rogerson explained as we bumped along. “Real pain in the ass.”

I nodded as we crested a huge crater, my head rising up to whack the ceiling so hard it brought tears to my eyes. Finally we pulled into a short dirt driveway, parking right outside a white double-​wide with a rusted swing set and a warped baby pool in the yard. “You better stay here,” he said to me as I reached to open my door. “I'll be just a second, okay?”

“Okay,” I said, glancing around me. I could see only woods, a huge crescent moon overhead, and another trailerthis one yellow, and more rustedthrough a few scrubby pines to my left. The trailer door opened as Rogerson walked up the steps, revealing a stocky blond woman with a baby on her hip. She had her hair pulled up on top of her head, Pebbles Flintstone- style, and was wearing a faded Gucci T-​shirt and jeans. The baby reached out for Roger-​son as he stepped inside and she shifted him to her other hip, his pacifier falling out of his mouth and down the steps in the process. She didn't notice, and he was still reaching for it, his face twisted in a cry, as she let the door fall shut. I sat there in the car for eighteen and a half minutes. I knew this because the glowing blue clock on the dash was right in front of me, and I felt like I was watching my life tick away, minute by minute, in a place where I could stay forever and no one could ever find me. i was so fixated on this that I jumped, my heart racing, when Rogerson tapped on the windshield in front of my face. “Sorry about that,” he said as he got inside. “Got held up.”

“It's okay,” I said, “but I think I want to go” And then he leaned over and kissed me, hard, his hand reaching behind my neck and holding me there, his mouth smoky and sweet. I kissed him back with that huge moon shining down on us, and thought the whole time of that ctock, still counting down, minute by minute, hour by hour, forever.

We ended up back in the Arbors, cutting through side streets and past the country club to pull up in front of another house, where cars were also lining the street. Rogerson parked behind a silver Lexus, then reached under his seat and fiddled around for something, his brow furrowed, until he found it.

“Bingo,” he said in a low voice, and as he opened his clenched fist i saw a ceramic bowl in his palm. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small Baggie, packing the bowl quickly, then handed it to me.

“Oh, no thanks,” I said. “Reputation and all that.”

“It's your choice,” he said, shrugging. “But if i were you, I'd take a hit. You're gonna need it.”

“For what?” I said. “Just trust me.” He reached in his pocket for a lighter and a flame jumped up between us, illuminating both our faces in a warm, yellow light. “Okay?” I'd been taught since sixth grade about Peer Pressure and Bad Influences and Just Saying No. But for all he knew, I could be the kind of girl that smoked. I could be anything. I lit the bowl and took a big drag, feeling the smoke tangle in my throat, making me cough hard, fast. Tears came to my eyes as I handed it back to him, already feeling something change in me, as if I was slowly falling into warm water, one inch at a time. When we finished the bowl, Rogerson tapped it out, stuck it back under the seat, and leaned forward to kiss me again. It felt good, and I could have stayed there doing that forever, I was sure, but he pulled away and smiled at me. “Ready?” he said. “Sure,” I replied, not even knowing what I was getting into. “Then look right here,” he said, holding up a finger, and when I did he squirted something in my mouth that tasted strange and fresh, surprising me so much it made me gag, then start coughing again. “Whoa,” he said, pounding me on the back. “Watch out there. Sorry about that.”

“What is that?” I said, still coughing. “Breath spray,” he said, shooting two quick squirts into his own mouth. “Breakfast of champions.”