"Bad Reputation"

She told me she always wanted to try it. She was thirteen, I was fifteen. I guess I should have considered that “always” for her was a much shorter time span than it was for me. In any case, I didn’t care, I just wanted to be her first.

We were on our way to the train station from school. Generally, we’d have a whole slew of people walking with us, but they either already went home or they would join later. Since we had a bit of extra time, I decided to stop on a stoop of an abandoned commercial building where people go to smoke away from the main street. Although, truthfully, I bet most of the people who perch there at darker hours are shooting up heroin or smoking crack–I mean, that’s what we all believed, isn’t it? Despite that, I figured it was the perfect place to be because if anyone we knew came walking by, we could hide from them before they spotted us. Or if anyone saw two underage girls in preppy school uniforms smoking on a dodgy-looking stoop…

When we sat down, our bodies wobbled on the crumbling concrete. We laughed it off and found our balance on a sturdier step. I unzipped the front pocket of my purple, durable, waterproof Timberland backpack (one strap, by the way) and fished around locating the secret black pouch that hid from suspecting adults–if only anyone actually cared to be suspicious.

After an awkward amount of time, I yanked the beat-up carton of cigarettes and a small, black lighter–should I even mention the skull print–I nicked* from the Indian-owned convenience store just around the corner from where we sat.

There were a fair number of cigarettes left in the case. It embarrassed me that it didn’t look like I smoked often enough, so I––or so I thought––slyly commented, “I just got this pack yesterday.” Yeah, good one, Renie. Way to keep your cool with a thirteen-year-old who doesn’t even know which end of a cigarette goes in their mouth.

I folded the lid back, and ruffled with the silver foil that obstructed my grasp for the white stick that might kill me 11 minutes earlier than God originally planned. But I didn’t care.

I hit the carton on the edge of the step and with a smooth transition, two cigarettes slid out. Pure luck, I swear. With a cocky smile, I held one between my teeth and handed the other to the girl. I lit mine with too much fire and burned half of the tip.

“Okay, so I’ll light it for you.” She asks me if she’s supposed to inhale and, in my high-and-mighty state of mind, I say, “Well of course you are! Gotta feel it burn in your lungs. Trust me, it’s a great feeling.”

She inhaled slowly, just as instructed. I watched her with eyes full of intent and fascination. I took a drag and waited in elevated anticipation of what was to come.

After a long couple of seconds, her nose flared and released a weak cloud of smoke, followed by what could have been an atomic bomb cloud from her mouth. My cigarette almost fell off my lips before my eyes fell out of their sockets.

I tossed her some water and we roared with laughter.

For the next four minutes, we sat there barely puffing on our smokes, but holding it either in our mouths or in our hands while we bitched about the aforementioned slew of people. My last attempt to be cool concluded with a formidable hack, “You should hold it in your left hand so if your mum thinks you’ve been smoking, she’ll sniff your right hand and won’t suspect a thing!”

When we finished, we didn’t soak, we drenched our fingers in Axe Dark Temptation deodorant and walked to the train reeking of out-of-date chocolate and no regrets.

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Frankly put, this story makes me laugh so hard. I was such a bad apple, but I always meant well. (Sorry, mom!) I often took the train home from school and joined a group of people that were hard to match up with. Luckily I found someone who looked up to me, so I took them under my wing and gave them what I now believe is the worst advice. Clearly I wasn't that impressive! "Bad Reputation" basically mocks my attempt at being 'cool'.

What's your most embarrassing story?