August was stoned. He sniffed his way across the garden, ambling into patches of roses, squash, and melon. By the time he reached the back of the house, he felt as if he’d been wandering for hours. The black velveteen curtain over Ruby’s window had fallen to the side. Through the glass, he watched her. Her head locked inside her earphones, her legs sprawled.
“Ruby!” he tapped.
She looked up. “What are you doing, asshole?”
“Nothing,” he raised his hands guiltily.
“Why are you out there?” She pointed for him to come through the front door.
“I didn’t want to disturb your mom and Troy,” he said.
“Disturb?” Ruby made a face from the plague.
“I guess so,” August gagged on laughter.
“Guess so?” she asked, wishing he’d go away.
“Like disturb,” he said, losing the thread of conversation.
“Did you bring something?”
August removed a slender joint of sensamilla, the best weed in the Rio Grande valley, grown by his Uncle Gilbert. Ruby struck a match to its tip, and the rich narcotic smell rushed into her nostrils.
“Listen,” she said, turning up the volume of a trumpet solo. The music was high and cool. The weed made it jump into the ozone.
“Miles,” she said with awe.
“As in miles and miles?”
“As in Davis, asshole.”
August pulled at the hairs of his ponytail. Ruby always knew what was cool which was why he worshipped her. She blew off school and knew everything while he toiled like a troll.
“Quinn sent it,” Ruby said.
August sucked on the joint. He didn’t want to share Ruby with Quinn or Miles or anybody. They smoked in silence, listening. Everything slowed down. One trumpet note took seconds to find the next.
”Is everything cool?” he asked.
“Most cool,” she said.
“How come?”
“My mother’s turd left today.”
August eyebrows fluttered. “I was thinking of your mom, digging on that scumbag.”
“And it freaked you out?”
August couldn’t admit it excited him.
“It freaked you out, didn’t it?”
“Miles what?” he asked.
“Miles Cool.”
“Can we listen to music that doesn’t fuck with my head?”
“Like?”
“Like the Beatles?”
Ruby laughed viciously. August’s triteness permeated everything.
“Let’s knock for it. Rock!” she said.
“Paper covers rock,” August slapped his hand over hers. A thrill stirred his loins.
“Bullshit!” Ruby yanked her hand away. “Rock smashes paper! Rock smashes scissors! Rock smashes rock and makes sand! Rock rules!”