Her nose was snotty and her hair was ratched. 

“Hey, you wanna get something, too?” She looked up at me with her big eyes and nodded, pointing at a pack of cigarettes. “A pack of those Marlboros, please.” The cash register opened and closed, creating a disjoint melody. With our plastic bag in hand, we left the store, searching for a spot. Eventually, two blocks down, we found a hole in the wall. It was filled with trash, yet it was dark, secluded—just what we needed. We sat down on the cold ground. She opened her pack while I opened mine. I grabbed the lighter and lit her cigarette, we looked at each other briefly. She really was beautiful. Even with all the dirt and cuts—irrevocably beautiful. I lit my cigarette with hers. We lied down and looked up at the sky. I took a deep puff, she followed suit. Our smoke mimicked the clouds, I’d say even replaced them. It got to our heads, we got dizzy. “When did you smoke your first cigarette?” “This is my first,” she said. I felt my heart sink. “Oh.” (I just corrupted you. Great, I feel great.) “How about you?” “Hm.” (11–dad forced me to.) “When I was eleven.” “That bald girl from stranger things?” “Ugh, you know what I mean.” “Did you like it?” “Not at first but eventually, yeah.” “Do you like me?” “Yes.” “Really?” “Uh huh.” “Thank you.” “What for?” “For liking me.” “You’re welcome.” I hugged her. She hugged me. We held each other in complete silence and looked up at the sky again. I wish I had held her longer.