Free Empress of the World by Sara Ryan Page B

them in my locker at school.”
    “So I guess they don’t have locker searches where you are,” I say.
    “Nope. It’s not that big a school, and everybody knows who smokes, even though you’re not supposed to on campus.”
    “You’re not supposed to here, either,” Battle points out. Her voice sounds odd because she’s holding her nose again.
    “Yeah, and you see how much that gets enforced,” Katrina says, exhaling a careful smoke ring. “Besides, how cool is that?” She gestures at the ring as it slowly disappears. “It took me forever to learn how.”
    “I always liked that in Lord of the Rings. It made me wonder if Tolkien knew how to blow smoke rings himself,” I say.
    “Oh, he must’ve. All those guys probably smoked like damn chimneys,” says Battle.
    “And drugs! Don’t forget drugs! Opium and laudanum and . . . uh . . . other stuff that ends in ‘um’! They did it all, I bet you anything !” says Katrina. Then she takes an extra long drag on her cigarette and produces another, larger, smoke ring.
    “I can’t picture the man who created Bilbo Baggins in an opium den,” I say. “How about you guys?”
    “Can I picture Tolkien in an opium den? Absolutely! He was a writer! If you’re a writer you want to have as many kinds of experiences as you possibly can.” Katrina finishes her cigarette and drops it into a Coke can on the windowsill, where it hisses briefly. “There, Battle, are you happy?”
    “Not until you quit.”
    “Actually I meant, have you guys done drugs?” I feel naïve asking this, but I don’t care, I’m curious.
    “Not since we moved. I can’t find anyone who sells out in the provinces. But on the plus side, it’s easier to get liquor.” Katrina gives a thumbs-up sign.
    “Smoking anything is vile,” says Battle with a glare at Katrina. “I’ve been in the same room with stoned people, but only at cast parties. How about you?” Battle turns to me.
    Battle’s lack of hair makes her eyes stand out even more. Beautiful Eyes Girl.
    No. Just beautiful. “Cast parties for me, too,” I say, trying not to look too much into Battle’s eyes.
    “Why do you ask, Nic? Are you jonesing? I don’t have anything, but I bet we could find someone who does. Kevin must have some, don’t you think he’d have some? We could call him, do you want to call him?” Katrina makes game show hostess gestures at the phone next to her computer.
    “Don’t call Kevin, he’s got a test tomorrow,” says Battle. Wait, how does she know?
    I’ve never actually been stoned, just in the same room with it like Battle. I don’t know if it works like alcohol and makes you say things you wouldn’t normally say, but I bet it does. That would be a really bad idea for me right now.
    “Oh, he wouldn’t care, don’t you think he wouldn’t care?”
    I scan the room and finally spot the little digital clock, which is partially obscured by an orange tulle ballerina skirt. The glowing blue numbers read one-thirty A.M .I point at it and shake my head. “Volleyball,” I say.
    Battle nods and says, “We should get some sleep.”
    Katrina sighs. “You guys just do not understand the concept of decadence. At all.”

July 4, 9:30 a.m., Volleyball Courts
    I dreamed last night that I was defending Battle from her mom, using her braid as a weapon. How obvious can you get? Paging Dr. Freud.
    You would think if I was going to dream about the person I’m infatuated with, I could at the very least manage to dream about kissing her. But if I did, I don’t remember it.
    Despite that, I’m in an oddly good mood—I feel exuberant and Katrina-esque. Maybe it’s because the sun is shining and the sky is a particularly vivid blue. Or maybe the sugar and caffeine from last night haven’t worn off yet.
    I’m the first one of our group to get to the volleyball courts, which doesn’t surprise me. I get a ball, stake out a space for us on a corner court—less chance of hitting other people that way—and