right there in the next room while Nate and I devoured each other in the doorway?
But wait—Nate had been smoking when he'd answered the door. Was his dad okay with that? Maybe he was. Maybe a man who cheated on his comatose wife and pretty much abandoned his kids didn't live by a whole lot of rules.
Nate took my hand and led me to a long table. On it sat a large, beautiful, light purple glass tube.
"Tonight we blaze with Purple Haze," he said. "Watch and learn."
Ah. "Purple Haze" was a bong—a bong with a name. I watched as he lit it, then sucked on the top of the tube. The water inside gurgled. The whole thing looked and sounded ridiculous, but I wouldn't let myself laugh.
With his eyes closed, Nate gently pulled away from the bong, held his breath ... then slowly blew another plume of smoke into my face. "Sweet," he said. He offered me the bong. "It's easy."
I didn't doubt it was easy, but it wasn't tempting. Not after Friday night's paralysis party.
"I'm gonna pass," I said.
"Why?"
"No reason. I'm just ... not that into it."
"But Cara, you get so high. That's a gift. Wasting that, that's like ... like Superman saying he doesn't want to fly."
Sorry.
I worried this would be the end of the date, but Nate shrugged it off.
"Come on," he said.
He grabbed the bong and led the way to his room. He plopped on his bed, turned on the music and the screen saver, and gently placed Purple Haze on his night table. "We'll leave her here in case you change your mind."
I made a mental note to tell Claudia the bong had both a name and a gender.
Nate pulled me down next to him and kissed me, then pulled away, laughing.
Laughing?
"What? What did I do?"
"Nothing," he said. "I was just remembering you from last time. You just ... stopped. And your face: total perma-grin. You really couldn't move at all?"
Seriously? Were we seriously still talking about this? Did we seriously stop kissing to talk about this?
"No," I said. "I couldn't move at all."
"A baked coma," he said dreamily.
Coma? Did he say "coma"? My next words were vital. I wanted him to know I understood what he meant, that he could tell me even more and I'd be there for him. But I had a feeling that if I pushed, he'd stop talking.
"Yeah," I said, trying to echo his dreaminess. "Maybe if that's what it's like, it's not so bad."
It was a ridiculous thing to say, especially since the coma experience for me had been hell on earth. But I figured it would make sense to Nate, and maybe give him a little comfort.
"Cooooh ... ma," Nate singsonged. "Koooooh ... na. Coooooh ... la." He laughed, then rolled to face me and look me up and down. "Nice pocket," he said, his fingers reaching out to touch the chain trim on my shirt. "Can I try it?"
I wanted to steer the conversation back to his mom, but the next second he had slipped two fingers into the pocket and I gasped. Nate smiled and pulled me in for another kiss. This time he didn't laugh.
"Oh my God, Claudia—I think I'm a nymphomaniac!" It was an hour later and I was in the car, incinerating the speed limit to hit Wegmans and still get home in time for dinner.
"Don't you have to 'nymph' before you can be maniacal about it?"
"Define 'nymph,'" I hedged.
"You had sex with him?"
"Nooooo," I said, clearly implying more to the story.
"Were you naked?"
"Not entirely ..."
"You whoreson trollop!" Claudia crowed.
"I know! I know! It's crazy! He just looks at me in this way ... this 'You Are the Most Gorgeous Creature Alive and I Want to Devour You' way ... and my brain melts. Gone. Completely. Claude, if I hadn't had to get home, he could've gone further. I don't think I would've stopped him."
"You wouldn't have had sex with him." It was a statement, not a question.
"No!" I said. "I mean, unless maybe he had something ... you know, like a condom..."
"Cara!" Claudia cried.
"I know! And it's not like I'm in love with him! What is wrong with me?"
Chapter Eighteen
If something was wrong with me, it didn't take me long to stop caring. Nate and I "studied" every afternoon that week. After the first time, I didn't bother bringing my books—although maybe I could have used them to fan away the giant cloud of smoke that engulfed me every time I walked