Finding Mary Jane by Amy Sparling Page B

Ben looks when Marla talks about Max. His hands fold into fists at his sides, and his back goes all straight. I’m so focused on him and wondering what will happen if he gets any more jealous than he is now, that I don’t really notice the shadowy figure approaching from the front of the store.
    And now as the figure behind me gets closer, my brain still doesn’t tell me to pay attention, turn around, and realize what’s going on right next to me.
    “It smells like candy corn in here,” Bluntz says over my shoulder. I jump, knocking him in the ribs with my elbow. He stumbles back and crashes into the rack of key chains.
    “What the fuck is that?” yells someone from inside the room. Marla’s eyes go wide as she shoves Ben in my direction to check out the damage. “Nothing,” she snaps. “Pass me that joint.”
    “You okay?” Ben asks me, looking from Bluntz back to me. Bluntz rubs his chest. “I’m fine.”
    “Sorry,” I mumble. Ben fist bumps Bluntz. “Hey man, you got here just in time. We’re about to watch the band practice, but I think Marla wants to-” Ben stops, glancing at me.
    Really? I give him a questioning look. I know what they want to do, but I want to hear him say it. If anything could make him feel guilty enough to consider quitting getting high, it would be looking his sister in the eyes and telling her he was about to do drugs. “We’re going to smoke a bit before we head upstairs,” Ben says. “Hey Lex…Do you want to try it?”
    I shake my head. So much for the guilt trip. Bluntz taps my arm. “Come on, we’ll go upstairs.” I follow him through the darkness without looking back at my brother. I’m thankful that he had saved me from Ben. But it’s not like he did it because he wanted to. Once again, he’s my babysitter while my brother gets high.
    He leads me through the back of the store to another doorway with a beaded curtain. There is no real door, just blackness. He steps inside, pushing his hand between the strands of beads and holds them open for me. I can barely make out a stairway in front of us. Steep, narrow stairs that probably led to the servant’s quarters when this place was built over a hundred years ago. Now, I had no idea where they went. It can be a secret torture chamber for all I know.
    Awesome.
    As if the store isn’t dark enough already, let’s add a scary staircase.
    “There’s not a monster up there, ya know,” he says. I stick my head in and look up. There is no light of any sort up there. A strand of beads slip out of his grasp, smacking me in the head. “Shit, sorry about that.” He grabs them with his other hand. That arm is decorated with a dozen bracelets, all made of hemp, beaded leather or multicolored string. One of them has a silver peace sign knotted between black strips of leather. It’s the same one I wear around my neck.
    Bluntz never looks annoyed, impatient or any of the negative feelings people get in social situations. He is always calm, and although it’s a term I never like to use, I have to use it on him: he is chill. I stand in the doorway under the protective shield of his arm for a full minute before he says anything. “I’ll go first if you prefer.”
    “Yes,” I squeak. He turns toward me and takes a step backwards onto the first stair. He flashes me a bright smile and then he’s gone, a trail of squeaky wooden footsteps the only sign that he was even here. I grab the handrails and blindly sprint up the stairs after him.
    The rush of racing up a dark staircase makes it all go by faster than it should. Suddenly I’m slamming into his back, smelling his cologne and shampoo.
    “Sorry,” I mumble, sliding down a step.
    “No worries,” he says with a chuckle. “It’s really beautiful up here,” he says, turning a creaky doorknob.
    The stairs don’t lead to a stuffy servant’s room from the Victorian age. They lead to a terrace. A beautiful balcony that extends about fifteen feet out from the second floor