When I open the washroom door at school the next morning, Laura is in there rolling a cigarette.
“Hi,” she says without looking up.
“Hi.”
“You’re the one who sits in the back row, aren’t you?” Laura rolls up the paper, licks the edge, smooths it down.
What does that mean, the one who sits in the back row?
She looks up.
“Yes,” I say.
Laura is sitting right on the sink. I can’t just stand in front of her, so I sit down beside the toilet.
“What’s your name?” She sticks a cigarette between her lips and lights a match.
“Miriam.”
“Miriam.” She inhales deeply, and her throat makes this little crackling sound. “Pretty name.”
The door opens and it’s Suse.
“Hi,” she says when she sees me. “Why are you sitting —” Then she sees Laura. “Oh, hi!” And she shakes Laura’s hand (she shakes her hand!?). “I’m Suse.” She sits down on the toilet and I have to shift over a bit.
Suse pulls a pack of Marlboro Lights out of her bag and lights one. She crosses her legs and rests one arm on her knee with her other elbow on top. She looks perfect. Between drags she achieves the perfect distance between her cigarette and her mouth. Graceful yet relaxed. Perfect.
I’ve never smoked a roll-your-own.
“And how do you like our class so far?” Suse asks Laura, looking at her with interest. A coffee in her other hand would complete the picture.
Why is Suse asking her this? We’re new in the class ourselves.
“It’s okay. All classes are the same, aren’t they?”
Suse nods. Ines comes in.
“Here’s your coffee.” She hands Suse a cup.
“Thanks.”
With Ines in here now it’s really crowded. I have to slide over even closer to Laura. It’s funny.
Laura crushes her butt on the floor and pulls out her pouch of tobacco again.
“You roll your own?” asks Ines.
“Yes. It’s better. There’s a lot of shit in those filters.”
“And you think they’re healthy without them?”
Laura looks up. “No, but it’s cheaper.” She finishes rolling the cigarette and hands it to me.
“Thanks.” Did I ask her for one? I don’t know.
Laura rolls another for herself, then gives us both a light.
It tastes totally different. Like country and hay. Maybe like leather. Mmmmh.
“Which class were you in before?”
“B.”
“Katharina was in there, too, right?”
“Oh, yeah. Katharina was there.” Laura gives her a crooked grin.
I’m feeling a bit dizzy. I don’t usually smoke in the mornings. I’m staring at my cigarette, listening to Suse asking questions, Ines interrupting. I don’t look at them. I hear Laura’s voice beside me — soft, deep, louder than the others, closer.
I focus on the cigarette between my fingers and let Laura’s voice wrap around me like smoke. I let her words seep deep inside me.
What time is it?
Laura used to live in Cologne. Her father still lives there, but she came here three years ago with her mother. Her mother works at home, freelance, Laura says. She has a little sister. She doesn’t have a boyfriend.
She has three small rings in her ear and she’s wearing a silver bracelet that she fiddles with when she talks. Her dark red bag is lying on the floor in front of her. She has a necklace of tiny red beads around her neck. When she smokes, I can hear that crackling inside her throat.
And then the bell goes.
Suse: “I’m just going to smoke one more first.”
Ines: “I’m going to the bathroom.”
Laura and I walk to class together. Take a step, breathe in, take two steps, breathe out. Am I going too fast? Say something. Silence. Breathe. Maybe say something anyway? And then what?
It’s hard. The door’s straight ahead and I can’t do anything except keep going, keep breathing. And I can’t look at her.
I wish I could say something clever. Thanks for the cigarette. No, too lame. I wish I could say something that doesn’t sound too much like I’m only fifteen. Something that sounds like the big city — Cologne, Berlin, Hamburg, New York, Tokyo.
But I can’t think of anything.
“Hey, Miriam.” Laura grins at me. She has her hand on the classroom door. Suddenly she lifts her arms in the air and nudges me with her hip.
“Samba!”
What?!
Laura opens the door and goes to her desk. And she doesn’t look at me any more.