“Oh
my god!” I screamed. I had been looking for my stash—usually I keep it in my
Gucci change purse, which is always hidden in my left Manalo Blahnik
high-heeled loafer—I thought that Mel had taken it. I opened her suitcase, and
it was full whips and masks and…ugh.
“Mel!”
I said. “What the hell is up with this? Where are all your extra rubber bands
and bowling shirts?”
“What?”
she said. She was high again. “What?”
“What
is all this shit in your suitcase for?” I asked. “Is this how you’re financing
your habit?”
“God
damn it, I do not have a habit! What is with you people!?”
“Then
why does it always smell like weed in the van?” asked Kevin.
“I
don’t know! It’s not me! And that’s not
my suitcase!”
We
pondered this for a moment. It wasn’t Kevin’s suitcase, and it wasn’t mine
(mine was much nicer), and if it wasn’t Mel’s....
“NiNi?”
We turned to her in disbelief. “When did you think that you would get to use
this?”
