Page 33 of The Sweet Spot

“She’ll probably freak the hell out, Janya,” Saira says, placing her sister’s phone in the console.

“I don’t know about that.” We stop at a light, where the elder Mangal girl casts me a thoughtful glance. “Maybe she’s always known this day would come. She has to have considered you might want to meet the other side of your family, you know?”

“He was a sperm sample, Janya. The whole point was for her to keep it simple and do this solo.” I turn my gaze out the window, watching a group of younger teenagers messing around at a bus stop. “This is not doing itsolo. This is messy and complicated.”

“I don’t know, but the longer you keep it a secret the messier it’s gonna get.”

* * *

I exit the bathroom, wiping my hands on my pants since there was no towel with which to dry them. Justin’s friends are quirky, to say the least, their loft decorations of reclaimed materials and random art even more eclectic than my mother’s apartment. She’d probably love this place.

It’s obvious why so many people hang out at The Weeds. There’s food and drink, music and people in abundance. The rooftop itself is funky and aesthetically pleasing, populated by a sundry assortment of succulents, aloes, ferns, wildflowers, bluebells, and yes, weeds. It’s like being in the Garden of Eden. I rejoin Saira, who’s sitting with Janya, Justin and their friends around a rustic firepit in the rooftop’s center.

Janya hands me a fresh beer and pats the cushion beside her. “Are you cold? Posey brought out blankets.”

I don’t know who Posey is, but I accept a blanket gratefully, snuggling beneath it with Saira.

Taking a long drink of my beer, I turn my attention to the stars. Peter Tosh’s guitar shifts into random EDC before fading into someone’s questionable recording of a Phish concert. Swatches of sound from the street below float up between songs: honking cars, laughter, voices. Berkeley on a Saturday night.

New people come and go, people I don’t know and whose names I won’t remember. Joints are passed, beers are cracked open. Posey’s brownies do the rounds. Janya warns us to just have one.

“Like we’ve never had weed brownies,” Saira says with a scoff. “Wren goes to UCSC, for God’s sake.”

“You’ve never had Posey’s brownies.” Janya pops half of one into her mouth. “But please, go on with your bad selves.”

Saira and I decided to share one. I break a piece of brownie off and eat it slowly, enjoying the chocolate melting on my tongue. It tastes better than most I’ve had—apparently Posey works for a vegan bakery.

I’ve just finished my half when Justin pokes my arm. “Wren! You go to Santa Cruz.”

“I sure do.”

“Dallas goes to Santa Cruz.” He tilts his head toward one of the guys standing next him, a tall, blond kid with big, brown eyes and freckles. They must have just walked in, because I didn’t notice them before. “He’s just visiting, too.”

“Hey.” Dallas shoots me a cute half-grin I’m fairly sure gets the girls. “What year are you?”

“Freshman.”

“Yeah, me too.” His grin grows. There’s something familiar about him, but I doubt we’ve ever met. “I stay in Amnesty.”

I stand up so he doesn’t have to bend to hear me. “I’m over in Angela Davis.”

He nods, pushing his hand through his longish, blond hair. “I know a couple of kids who live there.”

We share the awkward smile of people who’ve just met but have bizarrely intimate knowledge of one another’s living situations. Saira walks by, giving me googly eyes over Dallas’ shoulder.

“So, what’s your major?” And then I roll my eyes at myself. “That was lame. You don’t have to answer.”

He laughs, eyes sparkly and gleeful. Maybe he had a brownie, too. “You gotta ask, right? I’m studying sports medicine, but sailing’s my thing. I’ve been doing it competitively for years.”

“Nice! Are you on UCSC’s sailing team?”

“Yup.”

“Maybe I’ll have to come to a meet or whatever sometime.”

“It’s just a race. Or a regatta.” He cocks his head as he gazes down at me, settling into a quieter, flirtier mode. “You definitely should. What—”

“Dallyyy…” A skinny kid stumbles over, handing Dallas a pipe fragrant with greenery. “D’you wanna hit this?”

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