She sat down and slipped the rolled blunt in her breast pocket and folded her arm. Your gaze fell to her smooth thighs and you mentally noted to wear something as short as her skirt.

Manda was not acting like herself. If for one thing, her fierce countenance, like the smoke it came as, dispersed. You no longer sensed her predictive aura. Like a coat, she had removed it. But it was within arm's reach. She focused on the T.V and looked like one that would not speak unless spoken to. What you didn't know was that she had silently broken up Brymo and was in a phase.

“Why do you want to smoke that thing?” You asked.

“The same reason you smoked a cigarette.” Her gaze remained on the T.V.

“I smoked it because...” You couldn't find words. “Really, why do you want to smoke that...that thing?”

She didn't answer. You followed her gaze to the T.V. The casting still rolled up. She finally broke the silence. “Since we were trying new things, I wanted to try it too.”

It was not “we”, it was “you” trying new things and you were sure you didn't want to smoke weed. It was because of Dad you penned down smoke. You wanted to feel what he felt when he went to the backyard for a smoke.

Manda fingered her breast-pocket, slipped the blunt out and fitted it on her lips. “I am burning it now.” the lighter set in her hand.

“Here? in the parlor?” You sprang up. “You can't do it here!”

“Relax, we are going to the kitchen.”

“All the way to the backyard.”

“Alright.” she stopped in her tracks, just beside the stairs. “But wait, what if my parents see me? I am supposed to be in school. Remember?”

You thought about it. The backyard was a field that stretched ten plot in length. The width stretched as far as the houses went. Like Dad, other neighbors built a warehouse at there backyard. Some housed exotic cars. Mr Elele's Back House, as they call it, was a private club—So you heard— but you were still yet to see it. Some were a cool out corner from the babies. But Dad's Back house housed a speedboat and some mechanical tools. And guns. The mansion between you and Manda's house had no Back house so nothing obstructed view. The mansion is owned by Mr Edogo. All you knew was that Mr Edogo lives happily with his family in London. Dad said they left when you were a baby.

“It is their nineteenth honeymoon anniversary.” As she spoke, she strode toward the kitchen and you followed because you were a good listener and didn't cut people short.

“All they do is have sex everywhere in the house this month. When I told them I had a headache, that I couldn't go to school, they—Mum especially asked me to go to the school infirmary. Ahhh." She palmed her forehead.

She stood by the window and sparked the lighter, stalled when the flames appeared and in that momentary pause you said, “This is not very girl-like.”

The flame died and she picked the blunt from her lips. “What do you mean not girl-like?”

Another glance at the blunt in between saved you alot. When you searched for how to smoke a cigarette, you had seen a thumbnail that gave instruction on how to hold a blunt. And as Manda held it, like a cigarette; according to the YouTuber, was wrong. And a red bad sign was above the picture.

“You are holding it wrong.”

She held it in between her index and middle finger. She stuttered, tried to deboard the plane that was about to take off. When her mouth opened you thought she would say, I said what do you mean by not ladylike? But she said, “How do they hold it?” Her brows furrowed. Increased curiosity.

“Like this,” you fixed it in between her index and thumb.” It was how the other picture on the thumbnail with a good sign, held it. Manda's hand trembled and she wasn't in the position to talk about yours.

“like pen, but not like pen.” she said, “Are you joining in?”

You shook your head but it wasn't as strong as before. On second thoughts, why not?

“Common, let us just try it. Common, common!” She stretched to tickle your side.

“Alright, but only once.”

Yeahhhh, she made a small dance; attempted to Shaku Shaku but failed miserably. You smiled.

“We have to be fast.”

She looked at her watch. “John should be back very soon.”

Your heart danced whenever you heard his name. She sparked the lighter again and the flame appeared. She stalled again— a stall of one that had not made up the mind. Your conscience pricked you, but before you could voice it, she lit the blunt. Your heart slammed your rib cage. The white paper burnt. She inhaled, as if it was cigarette. She took another and another. Now, you were scared, convinced that you had made a bad discussion. She puffed thick smoke and you saw that the smoke had a lighter color and...sniffs...and different smell.

She took another drag and puffed, then stretched to give you the smoking blunt. With a shaky hand, you grabbed it.

“Are you feeling anything?” You asked, brows up.

“No, I don't think so...” She said, trying to search her consciousness. “I can feel a ting in my toes...wait... Jesus!” she looked at you, “Have you smoked it?”

“No. How do you feel? Are you...”

“I feel amazing!” She put her hands in the air. “Try it!”

“Bring your voice down , we are committing a crime.” You fitted it on your lip and inhaled little. You housed the smoke in your mouth for a few seconds—As the YouTuber instructed— to cool off before sucking it in. At least, this one was gently and was not as hot as the cigarette. You took another drag, followed the same procedures.

Manda was staring straight into your eyes with an expectant demeanor. “Do you feel anything? Do you feel this...” Apparently, there was no name for her present euphoria.

Maybe you didn't take enough. You took a much harder drag and inhaled, ignoring the procedure. You puffed out the window and in that instance, you saw Manda's dad dressed in blue polo shirt, walking up the asphalt. He craned around, cautious of the eyes on him. You ducked before his detecting eyes uncovered you. If not for anything for the fact that you were smoking...smoking Marijuana. Manda didn't know why you ducked but she ducked too, almost immediately.

“What?”

“Your Dad is passing.” you pointed toward the window.

“Ehh? Where is he going?” She whispered.

You mentally shrugged. The gate barricading John's house squeaked and you sneaked a peek and saw that Mr Bright was the one who opened it, and that, Mrs Metuonu was at the door and received him with a kiss on the lip. Mr Bright looked back but you ducked and was sure he didn't see you.

“Are you serious?”

You forced a smile. “I thought it was your Dad. The man just entered John's house.” You faked another laugh, with hope that your thoughts didn't betray your demeanor.

She laughed, clearly too high to comprehend.

“I told you, this thing is crazy!” 

You weren't feeling anything yet and had stubbed out the blunt out of fear.

“I don't get, how do you feel?”

Her red eyes bore open as though you just said something crazy.  “What do you mean how do I feel?” Her eyes were really red. “you are meant to be feeling it by now.”

“I don't feel anything.”

“What do you mean you don't feel anything?” She looked crazed by your revelation.

“Maybe, I didn't smoke it right.”

“No, I saw you, you smoked it well.”

You held the blunt in one hand and lighter in the other. A smoker would have fitted it on the lips before lighting. But you were a beginner, so you held it separately and burnt it until it started smoking. You inhaled heavier drags, made sure you sucked it in and when the blunt burnt to a roach, you still did not feeling anything.

“Anything?” the redness of her eyes were more pronounced, and a vein by the side of her head that was usually concealed, popped out and was throbbing.

You shook no. “Maybe the weed isn't that...”

“So, you don't feel this...” Still no existing word. She moved and rubbed the sink, hinted that it felt different. “I don't know, but I feel this fire in my stomach that can only be quenched by food.” She reached for the covered bowl of plantain and removed the white lid. She picked about five or more of the oily plantain and fitted it into her mouth. She chewed and when her gaze met yours, she smiled broadly and continued chewing.

It was definitely make her act weird.

“Like I said, whoever spiced and fried this plantain has a special place in heaven.”

As she munched on the plantain you focused on the facade of John's house wondering what Manda's dad was doing there. Maybe it was just a casual visit. Or he was helping her fix her T.V or heater; as he had proven in the past to be handy in electrical. Or maybe he was helping her with a case since they were both lawyers. Or maybe, Mrs Metuonu was deeply in need of somebody to confide in—Oh the Woman needed counciling—and Mr Bright was just being a good neighbor. But none of that explained her welcoming kiss.

At the back of your mind, you guessed that if you entered the house, their clothes would trail from the door to the spot they adultered. Was he not on a sex spree with his wife? What is love?

As these thought strolled through your mind, Mrs Metuonu's front door opened and Mr Bright hurried out, touching his flap. The window was no longer open and the one-way mirror effect wouldn't allow view from outside. Manda was too engrossed in the plantain to hear the gate squeak, or she heard it and paid no mind to it. With the same nervous movement, even tending to be more heightened, Mr. Bright scurried back to his house which was just a block away.

“What are you looking at?”

“Nothing... Nothing.”

Of course, with her present state, she wouldn't deduce your present expression.

Or not. She moved to the window and peered through but saw no one. “Are you sure you are okay?” She mumbled then swallowed. “Don't be weird.”

“Weird how?”

“Classic Anita weird.”

You pondered it.

“You know what I'm talking about,” No, you didn't. “The way you always separate yourself from others. You never attend any social gatherings, and if it should a compulsory one, you would Isoloate by the corner, alone. If you even read one of those bible-like books, then it would have be better. But you just stay there...by yourself doing nothing.”