The foliage surrounding the duck pond in Memorial Park was just past its peak, and there was nobody in sight except a distant pair of moms pushing strollers. Max leaned his bike against the side of a bench facing the pond, then sat down to try to figure out how to open the can of Skoal that had cost him ten of his last seventeen dollars.
The guy at the gas station had originally asked for twenty. He was definitely price-gouging. But Max had outmaneuvered him by claiming all he had was a ten.
At first inspection, the little green-and-silver hockey puck was as inscrutable as a novelty box from a magic store. Other than the raised SKOAL lettering on top, its surfaces were all perfectly smooth, giving no hint as to how it might open.
Max spent a couple of minutes turning it over in his hands with increasing frustration, until his fingernail accidentally punctured a seam just above the WARNING: THIS PRODUCT IS NOT A SAFE ALTERNATIVE TO CIGARETTES label. Following the seam with his nail, he managed to tear a slit through the entire circumference of the packaging.
He pried off the lid. What he found inside looked like almost literal shit—tiny shredded flecks of moist tobacco that gave off a dank, slightly minty smell. He probed it with his thumb, and when he withdrew it, little bits of the stuff clung to the pad. He tried to flick them away, but they didn’t flick very well.
This was going to be messy.
Max grabbed a loose pinch between his thumb and forefinger and held it up.
Where does it go? On my tongue?
The thought of putting it in his mouth was not appealing.
He returned the pinch to the tin and tried in vain to flick the stray bits from his fingers as he reconsidered his plan.
Maybe I should smoke it instead.
No, that’s dumb.
The whole reason he’d bought it was because smoking sucked. Plus, the stuff was probably too damp to catch fire.
He picked up another pinch and examined it.
Why aren’t the pieces bigger? Did I get the wrong stuff?
There was no way the gas station guy would let him return it. And he didn’t have the money to buy anything else. Lacking any better option, he put the pinch in his mouth.
Eeegh. It’s so loose!
Where does it go?
He used his tongue to push it down past his front teeth, against his lower lip. Somehow, it fit there. Then the saliva began to flow.
So much saliva.
Oh God. TOO much.
Max leaned over and tried to spit onto the grass, past the edge of the concrete slab where the bench was anchored. But the plug of dip, wedged in front of his lower teeth, was pushing his lip out so far that it messed up his spit mechanics.
So instead of spitting, he drooled.
“Hey, uhhh . . . ?”
It was a girl’s voice, coming from behind him. Max managed to disconnect the rope of brown spit from his lip, and it fell onto the concrete with a soft spuck. Then he turned his head to the voice.
Kayleigh Adams was looking down at him, like a vision straight from his fantasies. What must’ve been her little sister, a younger and less hot version of Kayleigh, stood beside her. They were both holding buckets. Kayleigh gestured with hers.
“Sorry to bother you. Do you know if it’s okay to take water out of this pond?”
Max didn’t know the answer. And even if he did, the quantity of saliva flooding his mouth would’ve made a reply impossible.
The silence quickly became awkward for everybody.
“Like . . . do you think we’d get in trouble if we just filled these buckets?”
Answer her!
He swallowed his mouthful of tobacco spit.
“I think hhrrgh—” His reply ended in midsentence when his suddenly burning throat demanded that he cough and he refused, because his mouth was already refilling with spit, and he didn’t want to spray it all over Kayleigh.
Max clamped his teeth shut and suppressed the cough with a guttural, wet, inhuman-sounding gargle.
Kayleigh’s eyes widened in alarm. “Are you okay?”
WHERE’S ALL THIS SPIT COMING FROM?
It was a deluge in his mouth. He swallowed again. Then, to stop his salivary glands from making more spit, he swept the plug of tobacco out with his tongue and swallowed that, too.
“I’m fine! I just—”
His stomach registered a highly negative opinion of the situation. Max tried to ignore it, but it was impossible to disregard all the saliva that was still flowing into his mouth. He swallowed yet again and gestured at the pond, finally managing to produce an answer.
“I think it’s fine. Taking the water. There’s plenty.”
Kayleigh nodded. “Cool. Yeah. We just don’t want to get in trouble.”
“Yeah. Totally.”
“You’re Mark, right? From gym class?”
“Max.”
Something very, very bad was happening in his stomach.
“Right! Sorry. I’m Kayleigh.” She smiled.
It was the greatest smile in the history of smiles.
His belly convulsed.
“Cool,” he managed to say.
“C’mon, Kayleigh,” her sister muttered impatiently.
“Well, thanks for your help, Max—”
“Yerghh—” His reply was interrupted when his stomach, which had just contracted into a tightly balled fist, suddenly exploded straight up his throat.
He made it half a step toward the nearest bushes before he vomited all over the lawn.