Chapter Text
Lulu shifted the gear handle to “P” and turned off the engine. As the car relaxed, so did she, reclining her previously upright driver's seat and bringing her feet up to rest her knees on the steering wheel, taking in the scenery.
The overcast sky blanketed the beach in greyish hues, creating a moody ambience, only slightly distorted by raindrops on the windshield.
It was the kind of depressing weather Quil probably thought matched his soul.
“Why are we here?" Quil whined. "Why couldn’t we go to town and get something to eat?”
Lulu dignified Quil’s questions with silence. He had a lot of audacity whining about the destination while picking apart her packed lunch, which she’d been saving for this very occasion.
With Jacob no longer his chauffeur, Quil seemed to treat Lulu like a bus, going wherever the driver—her—chose to take the passenger—him.
Lulu rolled her eyes as Quil rambled on about how he’d rather be anywhere else. Just wait, she thought. He’ll realise how ungrateful he’s been soon enough.
This wasn’t just a trip to the beach—it would be life changing.
Lulu reached under her seat, patting around in a narrow gap—always a pain to clean—until her fingers brushed against smooth plastic.
She straightened up while holding the Ziploc bag behind her back. Pausing for dramatic effect now that Quil had stopped whining. She spun her hand around, elbowing the steering wheel in her rush but ignoring it, and smugly revealed the bag to him.
Quil jumped back, bracing himself against the window as if she’d brandished a weapon.
“Is—Is that a weed?” Quil pointed shakily at the bag.
She rolled her eyes.
“Q, stop being such a wuss,” Lulu said, exasperated. “And stop acting like you’ve never seen marijuana before.”
“But I haven’t,” Quil whispered to himself, though Lulu still heard him.
Lulu deadpanned. She was never amused when Quil acted his age.
“Hold this,” she said and promptly tossed him the bag, giving him no time to refuse.
“No, Lulu!” Quil shouted, but he caught the bag and cradled it like a newborn. “Why would you give it to me? It’s got my fingerprints on it now! I’m incriminated! I’m going to jail! I’ll share a cell with a pedophile! How could you do this to me? My life is ruined!”
She rolled her eyes once again and resisted the urge to chastise him for being dramatic.
While Quil’s breathing quickened as he spiralled into panic, Lulu calmly retrieved her pink lighter from the middle console. “Here. Let’s trade.” She snatched the bag from Quil’s hands and replaced it with the lighter, hoping it would calm him down.
Quil gulped, loud enough to hear over the rain.
Lulu rolled her eyes for what felt like the hundredth time that day.
With the bag back in hand, she inspected its contents. Inside were a small stack of rolling papers and, hopefully, ten grams of cannabis—hopefully, because she’d bought it from a sketchy guy in Port Angeles who looked like he needed it more than she did.
As she stared at the little baggie in her hands, the more daunting it seemed to open it. Lulu hated to admit she shared qualities with her cousin—whom she considered beneath her—but like Quil, she too had never smoked before. But unlike him, she’d never admit it.
Quil suddenly whispered right next to her ear, “Are you gonna open it?”
Lulu jumped, not realising he’d gotten that close. She glared at him, but he repeated, “Well, are you?”
Never one to back down from a challenge, she carefully unzipped the bag and took a small whiff. She’d expected an overpowering smell, unlike anything she’d ever experienced, something pungent enough to earn the name the devil’s lettuce. Instead, she was underwhelmed by the earthy, skunky smell.
Feeling more confident now, she reached for a rolling paper. But then it hit her, like a slap to the face—Oh shit, I have to make a joint.
How hard could it be? She scoffed. It was just paper and weed. But the more she thought about it, the more logistics piled up—how much do you use? Do you crumple it? Fold it? Could it explode if she did it wrong?
Unfolded, Lulu sneered. Port Angeles really deserved its reputation for disappointment.
Quil was leaning over the console, he way too close and way too warm. She could feel his anxiety seeping into her own. She’d already been stressed about the bag, but now she had an audience and an uncomfortably warm one at that.
Quil couldn’t know she’d never done this before. He already treated her like a free chauffeur—if he thought she was clueless, she’d never hear the end of it. Worse, he might think they were on the same level, and she couldn’t stomach that.
Okay, think. She needed Quil to back off—not just physically but mentally. He couldn’t see her screw this up. But if she kept him occupied, maybe she’d have time to figure it out.
She jabbed him with her elbow. “Back up. I need space to work.”
Now that Quil had backed off to a respectable distance, she went to work. Lulu placed the rolling paper on the console to ensure nothing spills into unreachable places. She jostled the baggie over the rolling paper, gently pouring a small amount of clumped cannabis onto it.
“Where did you even get it?” Quil asked, astonished to be in the presence of marijuana.
This was the perfect opportunity to give Quil a distraction—and it was always fun to mess with him.
Pausing, she glanced slyly at Quil out of the corner of her eye and shrugged.
“Pa gave it to me,” she lied.
Quil yelped, “What!?” He stammered. “You’re lying!”
“I’m not lying,” Lulu said smugly. “Pa really did give it to me. He smokes weed with his buddies.”
He leaned forward in disbelief and she quickly snuck a nervous glance at the paper.
“I drive Pa near the Canadian border to buy an ounce of cannabis every month or so to smoke it with his buddies. They usually finish it all, but they’ve been busy—funeral prep and all that. And it's close to when your mom cleans the house, so Pa gave me what was left to get rid of the evidence. Now I can do whatever I want with it."
Quil’s mouth dropped open, and he stared at her like she’d just confessed to murder.
“Why do you think they’ve been having so many council meetings?” Lulu added, smiling inwardly.
Quil gasped. “It’s a smoke sesh!”
“Yep,” Lulu nodded, barely containing her amusement.
Quil sat back, blinking as if trying to process the end of the world. “I can’t believe Pa does weed!”
“Yeah, the hippies probably got him hooked.” Lulu added with a mock serious nod.
Quil’s wide-eyed look of betrayal was priceless. He looked like his entire life had been a lie.
With him thoroughly distracted, Lulu lined up the cannabis on the paper, positioning it in what she assumed was the correct way. She squinted at the paper, wondering if there was meant to be this much weed. Was she overdoing it? Underdoing it? She had no idea.
“Wait,” Quil suddenly said, making her almost groan. “How long has this been going on? And more importantly, why didn’t he invite me?”
“This little thing has been going on ever since I got the car," she answered before smirking. "And, obviously, it's because I’m the favourite.”
“No way!”
“Yes way,” she shot back. “It’s probably because I told him you like to snitch to your mom.”
Quil blinked slowly, before he muttered, “Is that why he’s been giving me weird looks?”
“Uh, sure,” Lulu said, not entirely sure what Quil was talking about.
Quil shook his head, “Why would you even say that!?” he said angrily.
“Why wouldn’t I?” She shrugged.
Quil scowled, crossing his arms. “You’re such a bitch.”
She sneered. At least I’m not a basic one, she was tempted to say but she bit back the retort.
She resisted the urge to start a fight with Quil. She’s been doing that a lot lately. For the goodness of both of them. He’s been mopey since his friends ditched him, no need for her to make him sadder.
Quil seemed smug that he’d gotten the last word—a rare occurrence—and basked in his small victory, possibly the happiest he’d been all day. His smirk, while ridiculous on him, posed a problem though. As long as he kept staring at her, there was a higher chance he’d catch Lulu in her lie. Not that she would fumble, of course.
Lulu refocused. How hard could this be? She psyched herself up. She’d rolled plenty of things before—yoga mats, sleeping bags. Rolling a joint couldn’t be that different. She had no reason to feel nervous.
With shaky hands, she brought the paper forward to lick the edge, when suddenly Quil smacked her.
The slap landed square on her collarbone—a surprisingly sharp jolt of pain made her hiss and almost lose her grip on the joint. She turned on Quil, her glare sharp enough to cut glass.
"What the hell, Quil!?" she hissed, rubbing her sore collarbone. "You almost made me drop it!" She gestured to the unrolled joint in her other hand.
Though secretly glad for the delay—more time to figure out how the hell to do this—she was still livid that Quil had gotten physical and nearly made her spill everything.
Forget about the damn weed, her subconscious told her. Lulu’s need to defend herself outweighed any interest in smoking the stuff. How dare Quil hit her when she was about to introduce him to the cool world of drugs—a world he’d never know if he’d stuck with his former loser friends (Though, with the drug rumours about them, maybe he already did). He’s about to get destroyed, she thought. A flame ignited in her chest.
She jabbed a finger at him, her voice rising with every word, “This is why your frie—"
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he interrupted, his voice quieter this time. “We tell each other everything”
Lulu’s finger froze mid-point, the fire in her chest extinguished by one simple, gut-punching fact: Quil was right—Oh the horror. They tell each other everything—She would even tell him the truth about the weed eventually. She even pictured his dumbfounded look once he realised how gullible he’d been to think Pa would give his granddaughter narcotics.
Lulu was stunned that Quil had found a plot hole in her masterfully constructed lie. Her previous anger was now forgotten, as she faced a bigger issue. How was she going to respond to Quil?
Her brain scrambled for a way out and, for a moment, she almost wanted to come clean. But seeing Quil’s expectant face, she knew he’d laugh, gloat, and feel smug about catching her fib. The thought reignited her resolve.
She couldn’t let Quil win. Not now. Not ever. The thought alone was too much to bear. That’d go against her entire being. She needed to double down and salvage the lie.
Time to pull out the big guns. If Quil thought she’d been convincing before, he was about to be blown away.
Lulu averted her gaze. “I didn’t tell you because…” she sighed, putting on a reluctant tone, "I didn’t want you to blab to that big-mouth Jacob. You know he’d run to that white girl to make himself look older.”
She heard Quil inhale sharply. Mentioning his ex-friends was practically taboo in the Ateara household. Even the slightest mention of them sent him into a slump. She remembered when they were at the rental DVD store to choose a movie for the family. Lulu picked up a movie released a few months ago with the actor Jake Gill-and-Jack or something similar. When she mentioned this to Quil, he stared at the DVD like it was cursed and didn’t talk for the rest of the day. She figured it was because the actor and his former friend (who had recently broken off from him) shared the same name.
Thinking back, she was glad he’d freaked out so much. Now, she didn’t think Brokeback Mountain was an appropriate watch for the family.
Quil was looking much like that day at the rental store. His hunched shoulders made her stomach twist and his eyes which were usually large and expressive were fixed on the floor.
Looking at him now, slumped and quiet, she felt another pang of guilt. She hated seeing him like this, but apologising outright felt impossible, it was a necessary evil to keep her dignity intact.
To lighten the mood—and maybe alleviate her guilt—she tried a playful jab. “On the bright side, since you’ve got no one to talk to, I can let you in on the stash.”
She cringed internally. That didn’t sound quite as intended. It worked, though, because Quil replied, “Soooo… just like you?”
That’s what I get for trying to be nice, she thought, feeling her guilt evaporate.
With Quil still in a bit of a sulk despite his jab, she returned to her task, now free of his judgment. She gathered and centred the scattered clumps of cannabis from her earlier startle. After a quick look at her hands, she licked her lips, leaned forward, and braced herself to roll. But, of course, Quil couldn’t just sit there and let her concentrate—he had to ruin it.
“Aren't you gonna put the filter in?” he asked.
She blinked, “The what?”
“The filter,” he repeated like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Lulu’s brain froze. The filter? Since when was that a thing? She could’ve sworn all she needed was paper and weed.
“You know,” Quil continued. “The little thing you put in so you don’t end up with a mouth full of weed.”
How does he even know this? Lulu wondered in the back of her mind. But at the forefront, she was screaming. She’d been so close to finishing. Why didn’t I think to check the stupid bag? she thought despairingly. A quick glance at the baggie on her lap confirmed her suspicion: her plug had ripped her off. He’s going to get cyberbullied so hard, she vowed.
It’s fine, she reassured herself. She’d just wing it like she’d been doing all along. “We don’t need it,” she said with forced confidence, waving her hand as if to dismiss the whole issue, praying Quil would drop it.
Quil raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further.
Taking a deep breath, Lulu curved one half of the paper over the trail of cannabis, angling it so the right side sloped lower than the left, like the side of a triangle. Using her thumbnail, she tucked in the edge of the paper where it met the cannabis on the right.
She held the joint-in-progress in one hand while using the other to push back a stray piece of hair. Almost finished, she told herself. Carefully, she began rolling the paper, pinching the right side to create a cone shape until only a sliver of the paper remained unrolled.
She sighed heavily, relieved that the whole ordeal was almost over. Now they could get on with the actual fun part. But it seemed she’d be the only one having fun, as a glance at Quil told her he was still miles away, lost in his thoughts. He’ll stay there if I don’t bring him back down to earth, she thought. Lulu sighed. Part of her wanted to leave him there, but a sulky Quil wasn’t fun for anyone—least of all her.
To snap him out of this funk that she created—oopsies—she’d need to distract him from his brooding. Quil was like a fussy baby who stopped crying when a toy was dangled in front of him.
She considered a few options but settled on getting him involved with the final step of the joint-making process. That way, he’d feel useful instead of just sitting there and a happy Quil meant more fun for her too.
As a wise sponge once said, The F in Fun is for friends who do stuff together.
She gently nudged him with her elbow. “Would you like to do the honours?” she asked, holding out the unfinished joint like it was the Holy Grail.
Quil’s eyebrows lifted, and he straightened slightly. “Really? Me?” he said, pointing at himself.
Who else would I be talking to? she thought snidely, tempted to say it out loud. But for the sake of moving things along, she kept her thoughts to herself. “Of course,” she said, smiling reassuringly and bringing the joint closer to him.
Quil’s face brightened as he nodded, seeming more confident. Some of that eager puppy-dog look had returned to his eyes, though his shoulders were still hunched.
He licked his lips—whether out of preparation or nerves, she couldn’t tell—then wrapped his hands around hers to hold the joint steady as he quickly licked the paper’s edge. Her nose wrinkled as her stomach flipped when his tongue grazed her finger. Great. Now it felt like she’d just been slimed.
Quil pulled back to check his work, then released her hands and collapsed into his seat as though he’d just finished a ten-hour shift.
She rolled her eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t fall out of her skull. At least if the joint fell apart, she could blame his lacklustre saliva.
She closed the seam, sealing it carefully, and tapped any loose bits of cannabis back into the baggie. Finally, she twisted the excess paper at the end, the dry crackle of it oddly satisfying.
Ta-da, Lulu thought. She turned the joint over in her hand, inspecting it from every angle. It wasn’t perfect, but it was hers. She’d jumped the hurdle, vanquished the beast, conquered the mountain—insert whatever dramatic metaphor people use for finishing a strenuous task. She felt a strange pride swelling within her.
For a moment, she felt a twinge of sadness at the thought of smoking it. Part of her wanted to hang it up, laminate it, or frame it. Something to preserve her baby. But good things don’t last forever. It was time to say goodbye to her masterpiece.
With one last wistful look, she cheerfully said, “Light her up, Q!” And placed the butt of the joint between her lips.
Quil fumbled with the lighter, flicking it repeatedly before managing to spark a flame that danced at its tips. He cupped the lighter in his hand protectively, as if a gust of wind was going to extinguish it. Slowly, he brought the flame closer to her face.
Lulu leaned in, her hair falling loose from where it had been tucked behind her ear.
Quil, concentrating harder than he ever had in his life, veered off course. The flame wavered perilously close to her hair, and she jerked back.
“Not my hair, you uncoordinated bitch,” she growled out the side of her mouth. Hastily, she swept her hair back out of harm’s way.
“Sorry,” Quil mumbled, barely audible, his attention still fixed on the lighter.
At last, he had steadied the flame beneath the joint’s tip, letting the fire catch on the twisted end of the paper. Lulu felt the warmth radiate toward her face—not that she could tell if it was from the flame or Quil’s nervous energy. She crossed her eyes, glancing downward—not her best look—and saw the paper darkened and the twisted end burned away as the flame did its job.
After a moment, Quil released the lighter’s spark wheel, snuffing out the flame. A tiny ember glowed at the joint’s end.
Lulu stared at the glowing tip, a pit forming in her stomach. This was it. No turning back now. She’d gotten this far—she couldn’t let Quil think she was all talk.
Before she could psych herself out, she took a quick, shallow draw. The cherry brightened, and acrid, bitter smoke hit her like a punch to the back of her throat. A cough clawed its way up, but she dug her nails into her palm to fight it down.
Her mouth trembled open, releasing the smoke in uneven puffs like a sputtering exhaust pipe. Once she thought it was all out—good riddance—she inhaled a fresh breath of air, desperate to clear the taste from her tongue.
But even the fresh air betrayed her. The cool air irritated her throat further, making her eyes water. She nearly gagged, but she clenched her jaw and powered through. She hadn’t come this far to let some lousy joint get the better of her.
Her hand trembled as she held out the joint—so shaky that ash floated onto the console. “Your turn,” she croaked, her voice barely above a whisper as she tried to keep her tears at bay.
Quil seemed too preoccupied to notice her distress.
“I don’t know about this, Lulu,” He said, fidgeting with his hands, “What if someone sees us?”
Oh, now he has something to say after I had just ruined my lungs, she thought snarkily.
His eyes darted around nervously, scanning the empty beach. “What if they tell mom? What if they call the cops? What if—”
“Quil,” Lulu rasped, her throat still burning. “We’re in a parked car. On an empty beach. In the rain. No one’s here.”
That was a lie. Rain never stopped the residents of La Push from going about their day and she knew Quil would probably realise too. She just needed Quil to get rid of the joint from her hands.
Luckily, he was too nervous to catch her bluff. With an equally unsteady hand as hers, he took the joint from her.
She wanted to sigh in relief, but her throat still burned like sandpaper, and she didn’t dare risk it. Lulu had felt like she’d swallowed a bonfire. Her throat still burned, and her tongue tasted like ash. Passing the joint to Quil was like handing off a cursed relic—let him deal with it.
Quil held it like it was a loaded gun, keeping it at arm’s length—or as far as the cramped car allowed. Lulu rolled her eyes.
“Oh my god,” she huffed in exasperation. Do I have to do everything? Seriously, what was the point of bringing him if she was going to do all the work? She seized his wrist, dragging it closer to his face.
“It’s easy,” she urged. “Come on. You’ve made it this far; don’t wuss out now.”
She knew it was bad to peer pressure someone—shame on me, blah blah blah—but this was Quil. She could do what she wanted with him.
He took a deep breath, practically inhaling it before it even touched his lips. “Okay…”
He placed it between his lips—like she had—held it between his index and middle fingers—like she had—and, unfortunately for him, took a quick drag—like she had.
But unlike Lulu, Quil reacted immediately. He barely inhaled for a second before he broke into a violent coughing fit. He pouded his chest and hacked so violently that Lulu briefly worried he’d throw up all over her dashboard. His free hand flailed like he was drowning, the joint bobbing dangerously close to his crotch.
Before he set himself aflame, Lulu snatched the joint from his grasp. He continued choking, his breath rasping as his eyes watered.
Quil’s meltdown would’ve been hilarious if it weren’t so pathetic. She’d been right to take charge—clearly, one of them needed to show some backbone.
After a final heave, Quil turned to her, his face flushed and shiny with tears. “Cool,” he croaked sarcastically. “We done? Or do you want me to set the car on fire next?”
“Done? Done?!” Lulu was flabbergasted. “We just started!” She’d gone through all this trouble, and all they had to show for it was a bruised pair of lungs. She refused to believe that weed wasn’t the mystical drug immortalised in songs. Would Snoop Dog lie to me? No. Snoop was a man of the people, and the people would never put up with this.
To settle the matter, she had to get back on the horse.
Determined, she brought the joint back to her lips and inhaled deeply this time. The warm, dense smoke filled her mouth, tingling across the roof before curling down her throat and settling in her chest. When she exhaled, a stream of cloudy white lingered in the air, lazy and unbothered.
The buzz came slowly, like a tide creeping in. It started in her fingertips, tingling and electric, before radiating outward in soft waves. Her muscles, tense with anxiety, loosening, soft and warm, like butter sliding off a knife.
The world sharpened. The faint patter of raindrops on the roof swelled, louder and rhythmic, almost musical, more interesting than it had any right to be. She felt unshakable ease wash over her, the kind that made her realise just how tightly wound she’d been.
She sank back into her seat, her head lolling. Everything felt softer, easier. Her thoughts loosened and drifted freely. For now, in this haze, everything was fine. Every worry she carried seemed to dissipate with each inhale and exhale.
Her haze was perfect—blissful, untouchable. Until Quil coughed again, breaking her trance.
“Isn’t weed bad for you?” he nagged, gnawing on his lip, almost killing her buzz.
“Isn’t being a little shit bad for you?” she shot back, her tongue loosened by the high.
He brushed off the insult. “Isn’t it illegal to smoke in public?”
“This is private property,” she gestured around her. “this whole land is our private property.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Since when did you become…advocate-y?”
“You’ve got a real way with words,” she replied dryly, hoping it would shut him up as she flicked the ash off the console.
It didn’t. His questions kept coming, each one chipping away at her buzz. Her haze, once blissful and untouchable, now felt as fragile as a soap bubble. Every question he asked popped another piece of it, leaving her mind full of jagged irritation.
She had to get him on her level, especially since she’d need to wait out her high before they could leave. If he kept up his interrogation, she might actually ditch him here.
Problem was, Quil wasn’t as resilient as she was. He might not want to try again. So how would she get him to retry?
It embarrassed her how long it took to come up with the obvious solution—peer pressure, of course. It worked the first time. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.
“Okay,” she announced loudly, cutting off whatever annoying question he was about to ask. “My hand’s about to catch fire over here, so take your puff, and—”
“No!” Quil interrupted defiantly. “I don’t want to do this anymore. This was a bad idea. What if Mom finds out? What if we get arrested? What if—” He froze, his eyes widening. “Oh my god, am I high right now? Am I gonna feel like this forever.”
“What? No! Quil, you’re not high, you’re fine. You only took one puff and if you’re worrying about these things then you must be sober.” She tried to calm him down.
He looked genuinely distressed now, his palms on his head. “Can we just go home?”
This was a turn Lulu hadn’t anticipated. She scrambled for a way to derail his train of thought before he went to dangerous places, like thinking he could drive them home.
“Oh crap, you’re high. You can’t drive—wait, I’ll drive—”
Oh no, he’s gone too far. Lulu’s mind raced. How could she get Quil to stop freaking out and take the joint? Then it hit her—a foolproof plan. Sure, it was a little ridiculous, but desperate times...
“OH MY GOD, QUIL!” Lulu screeched, cutting him off. “IT’S BURNING ME! HELP ME, QUIL! TAKE IT OFF ME! PLEASE—” She flailed her arm frantically, contorting her face as if she were in real pain.
Startled, Quil jumped into action. “Jesus! Okay, okay!” He snatched the joint from her, holding it at arm’s length like it was about to explode.
Lulu calmed down instantly, the dramatic flailing vanishing like smoke in the breeze, but even in his panicked state, Quil noticed the change in demeanour.
“The hell was that?” he asked, his face twisted in disbelief.
“What was what?” Lulu replied, feigning innocence.
“That!” Quil gestured wildly with the joint, still holding it at arm’s length. “You were acting like your arm was about to catch fire!”
“Quil, don’t be dramatic,” she said breezily. “My hand just got tired, and I wanted you to hold it. No big deal.”
“You—what—I just—” He sputtered, too astonished to form a full sentence. Finally, he sighed and shook his head, “I just… can’t with you.”
Lulu will probably look back on how she acted during this moment and be so mortified that she’ll want to die in a hole. But with her mind loopy now, she didn’t think twice about it.
Lulu resumed her coaxing, her voice taking on a dreamy, persuasive lilt. “You really should try again. It’ll help you take your mind off things.” She smiled sweetly as if this weren’t all part of her master plan to stress Quil out until he finally gave in. And definitely not because it was funny. Absolutely not. “You’ll thank me later. Trust me, Q.”
Quil hesitated, his eyes darting between the joint and Lulu’s overly eager expression.
“Come on, Quil. Come on, you can do it,” she said, her encouragement growing louder and more insistent with each repetition. By the third or fourth round, her voice had reached a borderline shrill pitch. She saw the tension in his face, his patience unravelling with every shrill syllable.
Quil stared at the joint like it had personally wronged him. His hands twitched at his sides, torn between smoking it and throwing it out the window. Finally, with an exasperated sigh, he made his decision.
“Fine!” Quil snapped, throwing up a hand. “I’ll do it if you shut up!”
Her grin spread wide. “Yes, Quil! That’s the spirit!” she cheered, clapping her hands together as he begrudgingly braced himself for round two.
Lulu smiled innocently as if this wasn’t all part of her foolproof plan. She was a genius, really—one annoyance at a time, and she always got her way.
“Don’t rush it this time,” she advised, slipping into her best sagely tone. “You’ve really got to feel the smoke going through your chest,” she said, trying to sound wise but mostly making it up as she went.
“But I did exactly what you did,” Quil grumbled under his breath.
“What did you just say?” she shot back, her voice dropping into a dangerous dare.
Quil wisely ignored her and focused entirely on the joint. That was the difference between them, really: Quil overthought everything; she thought just enough.
After what felt like ages, he finally seemed to resolve his internal conundrum. He took a deep inhale, his chest expanding so comically large that Lulu almost forgot her irritation. He held the smoke in for a few seconds before exhaling smoothly through his nose, the soft plume of smoke giving him the fleeting image of a dragon.
Lulu had to admit—reluctantly—that it looked kind of cool. Not cooler than me, obviously, she reassured herself.
“See? You’re a pro,” she said, giving his arm a light smack.
Quil sank back into his seat, practically melding into it. He tilted his head back against the window, his features softening as a small, genuine smile curled at his lips.
That smile hit her. Not the smug grin of someone who’d just gotten the last word, but the kind that found joy in the little things—even chores. He might whine about running errands, but he always made the best of it, trying to weasel free food out of whatever Auntie was at the store or making a game out of washing dishes. This was the one thing about Quil that she could admit that he had an advantage over.
With the atmosphere relaxing, the two of them fell into a comfortable silence, passing the joint back and forth as the rain tapped gently on the roof. Lulu let her eyes drift shut, her body sinking into the seat as the high wrapped around her like a warm blanket.
She would’ve played music to complete the vibe—something like Pass the Dutchie—but thanks to whoever stole her radio, the soundtrack was rain and Quil’s breathing. Even remembering the theft of her radio didn’t kill her mood. She felt too good to care.
“You know,” she said, breaking the silence. “I knew you were the right person to smoke with.”
Quil didn’t get enough credit. Sure, he was a pain in the ass 90% of the time, but he always showed up. That counted for something.
“Oh really?” Quil’s tone was flat, but her hazy brain misinterpreted it as genuine curiosity.
Lulu wanted to express how Quil has subverted all expectations and how she’ll always be there for him.
“Oh yeah,” Lulu continued earnestly, leaning into her point. “Some people might’ve doubted you. Like, ‘Quil’s too much of a pussy,’ or, ‘He’ll just run to his mommy.’ But me? I had no doubts. There wasn’t anyone else on my list.” She paused for dramatic effect. “You were my first choice.”
Quil stared at her, his mouth slightly ajar. For a fleeting moment, she thought he might be touched by her words.
“Right,” he deadpanned. “Because you have so many friends to choose from.”
The whiplash was immediate. Lulu’s jaw dropped, stunned by the audacity. Who responds to a compliment by insulting someone?
“Bitch,” she snapped, pointing between them. “We have the same number of friends, in case you haven’t noticed.”
He pointed his finger at her, “That was only recently for me—”
“Right, because recently means a month.” She countered, cutting him off before he could finish.
“Remind me again,” Quil said, his tone sharp. “How long has it been for you?”
The jab stung, but Lulu wasn’t about to back down. All’s fair in love and war, after all. She smirked, prepared to hit him where it hurt.
“Yeah? Well, at least I did the ditching. I would never have been the ditch-ee, especially by my so-called BFFs," she shot back.
She expected that to end things, but this new, stoned Quil wasn’t backing down.
“You hang out with Pa,” he scoffed. “That’s sadder than getting ditched.”
Her mind blanked. Completely. No comeback, no retort, not even an insult ready to fire back. How did Quil come up with comeback? She sat there, stunned, struggling to decide whether she was more offended or impressed.
Stoned Quil had more bite, she realised. She didn’t know how to feel about that.
It was only after her mind stopped spinning that she realised Quil wasn’t sulking. In fact, he looked.. fine. Maybe even better than fine.
As the argument simmered in her brain, she came to the realisation: Quil hadn’t shut down when she brought up his old friends. He’d even made a joke about it. This was progress! Maybe I do like stoned Quil, she thought.
She would've mentioned this hack to his mom—if it weren’t for the circumstances that got him here.
If he was this tolerable stoned, imagine how much better he’d be all the time. Honestly, she'd be doing the world a favour.
Now, how to keep Quil high 24/7? Weed brownies? No, that would be too suspicious if she handed them to him outright. Better to bake a batch for herself and let him “steal” them. That’d do the trick.
Quil’s reaction to their earlier spat was… nonexistent. He acted as if nothing had happened, steadily dwindling the joint and thickening the already hazy fog of white smoke inside the car.
It was odd. Normally, he’d still be pissy or smug, depending on the outcome of their argument. But now? Quil was acting nonchalant. ‘Nonchalant’ wasn’t a word Lulu would use to describe Quil. Ever.
It had to be the weed, she decided. Nothing else could explain it. Normal Quil would’ve sulked or gloated for hours, but this version of him acted like their fight had never happened. He wasn’t sure if she liked it or if it made her nervous.
He took one last drag before handing the joint off to her, still not looking in her direction. As he passed it, his other hand reached for the door handle, and he began rolling the window down. Lulu stopped him just as he was about to make a full rotation.
“The hell are you doing? Don’t roll down your window! You’re wasting good secondhand smoke.”
Quil paused before too much inside smoke could seep out and raised an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t my mom be able to smell the weed?”
Oh, silly Quil. He’d never been able to use his brain much.
Lulu reached for the rearview mirror and grabbed her fuzzy dice diffuser. “That’s why I have this,” she said, giving it a dramatic shake for emphasis.
Quil made a face, but she ignored it, as she always did when it came to his face.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Quil muttered, leaning against the window and shutting his eyes.
Lulu rolled her eyes. She didn’t need Quil’s counsel. Why would Auntie even set foot in her car? Quil was just worrying for the sake of it.
She let the joint rest in her hand, unattended, as her gaze wandered to the beach. She hoped looking at the grey waves and rain-pattered sand would help clear her mind of Quil’s paranoia.
But that’s when she saw them. Near the tree line, two figures emerged from the woods. At first, she didn’t recognise them, which was strange. The rez was so small that she could identify almost anyone just by the back of their head. But as the pair stepped out of the shadows and into the dim light, she understood why she had trouble. She would have known them straight away, as she had known them since they were children had they not undergone their transformation.
Trailing across the sand were the reasons for Quil’s mood these past few months; Jack-off and Embryo—her preferred names for Jacob and Embry.
Or, as the rez knew them, Sam’s disciples.
She couldn’t believe that dumb nickname Quil and his old friends had made up had caught on. It was ironic, really. A term they’d coined to mock Sam’s followers was now turned against them.
It was sad that Quil still used that name. There were plenty of other monikers he could’ve chosen: Sam’s cult, the steroid hall monitors. But no—he had to torment himself every time they saw the group.
She didn’t care much for Jacob or Embry. Had Quil done the ditching, she would've been the happiest girl in the world. Instead, they crushed Quil, and she hated the way Quil crumbled every time he saw them.
Lulu had done her best to keep Quil away from Jacob and Embry. Not that the two ever tried to encounter Quil—if anything, they avoided him—but the rez was small, and running into them was inevitable. She’d tried to minimise their interactions. Outside school, it was easy to keep him away—she’d lock him in their room with snacks and a distraction, like a movie marathon. Quil rarely questioned anything if there was food involved.
On the rare days Jacob and Embry actually showed up to school, Lulu and Quil ate lunch in her car to avoid seeing them gorge themselves on cafeteria food. She’d fake notes to get Quil excused from any classes he shared with them. She’d done all this and more, though she wasn’t sure Quil truly appreciated the effort. But so far, it had paid off. There had only been a handful of unavoidable incidents where the pair crossed paths with Quil.
So, of course, on the one day she decided to take him outside, the two problems decided to take a stroll on the beach. Just her luck.
“Q, don’t look, but it’s your old besties,” Lulu warned, praying he’d take her advice for once.
Quil snapped his head so fast it gave her secondhand whiplash.
“That’s the exact opposite of what I just said!” She threw up her hands in exasperation.
She was ready to scold him for snapping his neck like that, but then she saw his face. All that stupid stoned ease had drained out of him, replaced by something darker—something that made her stomach twist.
Quil’s eyes locked onto Jacob and Embry, his brows furrowed, his expression shifting with a cocktail of emotions that Lulu didn’t want to unpack.
Great, she thought bitterly. After all his progress, they just had to ruin it.
A glance confirmed that Jacob and Embry were blissfully unaware of Quil’s intense gaze. They continued walking, seemingly lost in an intimate conversation. It was always like this: with Quil so focused on them, and they never spared him a glance.
She hated seeing him like this—tense and brooding, the weight of something he couldn’t control pressing down on his shoulders like a boulder. When Lulu had a problem, she either faced it head-on or ignored it until it went away. Out of sight, out of mind. But Quil wasn’t like her. He stewed.
She didn’t know how to help him. She could distract him to the point of frustration or confront the two bimbos herself to give him a moment of satisfaction.
But both options felt like short-term solutions to a long-term problem. Poor Quil.
Because no matter how much Jacob and Embry ignored him, Quil would give anything to go back to the way things were before Sam.
And wasn’t that just sad?
Still, if Lulu was being completely honest, a small part of her also wished they’d take Quil back. The post-Jacob-and-Embry Quil was moody, emotional, and exhausting. He clung to her and his mom like a life raft, barely able to function on his own. She couldn’t even use the bathroom without him waiting outside the door. He was a socially dependent creature.
But her loyalty to Quil ran deep, so she shoved that tiny, selfish wish deep down and let her indignation on his behalf take over. No one should make Quil feel inferior without his consent—or hers.
For now, she’d settle for getting him through with this without another breakdown. But she’d be keeping an eye on those two. If they so much as looked at Quil the wrong way, they’d regret it.
But they weren’t even looking at him. Like he didn’t exist. Something inside Quil snapped. Quil broke out of his trance, his eyes narrowing with sudden determination and before Lulu could stop him, he flung the door open, letting all the smoke funnel out.
“Quil, you bitch!” Lulu shouted, reaching over to shut the door in an attempt to save the smoke. It was too far, though, and she gave up with a frustrated huff, slumping back in her seat.
She turned to glare at him out the window, but irritation morphed into shock. Her frail, weak, little cousin was marching toward two seven-foot, possibly gang-affiliated, buff guys who looked like they could pummel Quil into the sand with ease.
Panic gripped her. Forget the smoke—her weak and frail cousin was about to get pulverised. She scrambled out of the car, the light rain spitting down and ruining her straightened hair. Wet sand clung to her Uggs as she dashed across the beach, details that would usually send her into a rage but were now completely irrelevant.
She caught up to him, panting heavily and trying to disguise it by breathing through her nose to mask the fact that running such a short distance had winded her. Must be the weed still in my lungs, she reasoned.
“Quil, stop!” she hissed, tugging at his arm to halt him. His skin was unnaturally hot, almost scorching, and it made no sense. What the hell was happening to him? He swatted her hand away—girlishly, she noted—but never broke stride, his determined march straight toward his doom unwavering.
Thin wisps of white clouds rose off his body. Was it smoke from the car? Steam from the rain? Neither made sense, but then again, Quil didn’t make sense right now.
“Stop, Quil! You don’t know what you’re doing,” she pleaded, stepping in front of him. “Let’s just go back to the car and—”
Before she could finish, he shoved a hand in her face, pushing her aside. Lulu staggered, reorienting herself just in time to see that Jacob and Embry had finally noticed them. Quil was only a few paces away now, and she sprinted after him.
By the time she reached his side, he was already face-to-face—or rather, face-to-neck—with the pair.
Quil was huffing and puffing, each breath heavy and ragged. Lulu hadn’t realised he was so unfit. It was a short walk, for crying out loud.
“What did I ever do?” Quil demanded, his voice trembling with anger before launching into a verbal onslaught. He poured out his feelings, jumping from sorrowful pleas for an explanation to seething accusations. He wanted to know why they’d abandoned him, why they’d left him behind.
There was a strong look on Jacob and Embry’s faces, there was something sharp and calculating in their gaze.
Lulu’s heart ached as she listened to Quil's rant. He poured every emotion—sorrow, resentment, and desperation—into his words. She’d always teased Quil for being soft, but now she wasn’t so sure. His words were sharp and cutting, his anger like a blade—but what good was a blade against a brick wall? Jacob and Embry remained still, though their faces were conflicted as they occasionally glanced at each other. Lulu felt her sick.
Quil’s voice grew harsher as his insults escalated, and Lulu found herself torn between backing him up and trying to calm him down. On one hand, she was proud of him for standing up for himself; on the other, she feared the pair might lose their patience.
“Quil, maybe we should—” she started, but Quil’s voice cut through hers.
Quil’s breath hitched, his anger boiling over. His voice shook, but he forced the words out. “Now you’re Sam’s bitches!” Quil spat, his voice shaking with rage. “I hope he gives you both the same amount of time to suck his dick, so you don’t have to fight over it!”
Lulu’s jaw dropped, and then she burst out, “You tell ‘em, Quil!” She figured there was no turning back after he had insulted their master.
Jacob’s eyes locked onto hers, his voice stern and commanding. “You need to leave.”
For a moment, the sheer weight of his words almost made her obey. Suddenly, she became hyper-aware of his size. Jacob towered over her, his massive frame making it clear how easily he could send her flying with one swing of his massive arm like a bear swatting away a fly.
She should have kept her mouth shut.
Quil stepped in front of her, “Don’t talk to her like that.” He said, his voice protective.
Lulu might have been touched by his sudden bravery if it weren’t for the fact he was putting himself in even more danger—exactly what she’d been trying to prevent.
“Q, you just calm down and—” Jacob was just about to place his hands on his shoulders when Quil shoved them off. “Don’t tell me to calm down!” Quil yelled.
She reached out to grab his arm, only to yank her hand back in shock. It felt like she’d touched a heated pan.
Quil’s entire body vibrated now, the edges of his form rippling like a mirage, like he was trembling too fast for her to see clearly. And was he… steaming?
Oh no, she thought, panic rising. Is he tweaking out on the weed? She hadn’t thought it possible after just a few puffs, but if anyone could discover new symptoms of marijuana, it’d be her cousin.
Jacob and Embry must have noticed, too, because they exchanged a silent look. Embry nodded and stepped forward, his hand reaching toward her.
“Step back, Lulu,” Embry said firmly.
Before he could touch her, Quil shoved him back.
“Don’t touch her!” Quil growled. His push barely made Embry flinch, but he withdrew his hand.
“I’m just trying to help,” Embry said, raising his palms in surrender.
Quil opened his mouth to retort, but Jacob cut him off. “Yeah, okay. You wanted to talk? Fine. We can talk.” His tone was calm and placating, but it did nothing to soothe Quil’s boiling anger.
“Talk?” Quil huffed, his words coming out in short bursts. “So now you want to talk?” He was panting heavily, each breath sounding more ragged than the last. “After all this time—”
His sentence broke off as his breathing grew heavier, his chest heaving. The huffs turned into deep groans. He doubled over as a pained groan escaped his lips. His body convulsed, his hands clutching his knees as he gasped for air. Lulu’s concern deepened as his groans turned guttural, almost animalistic.
“Quil!” she cried out, concern laced her voice, stepping toward him just as his back seemed to contort unnaturally. Her stomach dropped as his back contorted, bones pressing against his shirt, stretching it to its limits, and then—
A growl tore from his throat.
Jacob’s calm demeanour cracked as he took a cautious step forward, his eyes narrowing at Quil’s trembling form.
“Embry, now!” he barked, his voice laced with tension, and Embry sprang into action.
In a blur of motion, Embry sidestepped around Quil and tackled Lulu before she could react.
She barely had time to register Embry lunging toward her before they hit the sand. For a terrifying moment, she thought he was attacking her—but his massive hand cradled the back of her head, shielding her from the impact.
Her lower back, though, was unprotected. It slammed into the sand, the shock radiating up her spine and leaving her momentarily breathless. Pain flared, but curiosity and fear quickly overpowered it.
Pinned beneath Embry’s hulking frame, she could feel the weight of him pressing her into the sand. Lulu couldn’t see what was happening, but the sounds reached her ears—a rip of fabric and the deep, primal growl that followed, a sound that reverberated through her very bones. What the hell was making that sound?
Embry hovered over her protectively, his body shielding hers. She pushed at his chest, trying to get free, but he didn’t budge nor did it get his attention.
“Get off!” she yelled, swatting the back of his head repeatedly. Finally, he whipped his head around to face her. In an instant, he threw himself off her, moving so quickly she swore she saw dust left in his wake.
She didn’t have time to feel offended. Now free, she scrambled up, desperate to see what was happening.
Her breath hitched, frozen in her chest.
Where Quil had stood moments ago, there was now a massive brown wolf.
The creature towered over Jacob, who was already impossibly huge. Its fur bristled, and its gold eyes glinted in the dim light.
Even though a giant wolf that could tear her in half was only a few inches away, her eyes darted frantically around the beach with only one thing on her mind: Where’s Quil?
Lulu’s gaze fell on where shredded bits of clothing lay scattered in the sand. Quil’s clothes.
Her mind struggled to make sense of it. The wolf couldn’t have eaten Quil; there was no blood, no flesh, no sign of violence, just torn fabric. But if Quil wasn’t there…
Unless—
No. That’s impossible. But when the wolf’s eyes locked onto hers, and for a split second, something flickered in their depths—something that reminded her of Quil.
Her chest tightened as the impossible thought crossed her mind. Quil was the wolf.
She inhaled sharply, her breath trembling. Was this the weed? Is this what they call a bad trip? It had to be. Right?