Page 60 of Outspoken

“I’m Amber.”

He nods again. “Angel.”

Chapter Sixteen

Amber

ANGEL PULLS HIS GRAY HOODIE off his head, revealing thin, shoulder-length brown hair that’s greasy. He has an oval baby-face, a pointed nose, and dark, distant eyes. What’s most striking about him is the weariness carved into his face, something that usually comes from age and the stress of being an adult. I can tell he’s young—maybe even in junior high—but his sunken eyes tell the story of someone much older when it comes to life experiences.

He meets my gaze from across the table with a passive twitch of his thin mouth. “You finally Miguel’s girlfriend?”

Finally?“Uh, no. Just someone who probably shouldn’t be here.”

He smirks at that and turns his attention back to his phone. “I feel the same way.”

“Are you Miguel’s nephew or cousin?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know what I am. A fucking nobody.”

Slouching deeper into my chair, I don’t even care that I’m being so open with a teenager, especially one I just met. The words flow out because they’re the truth. “Yeah. I feel the same fucking way.”

My honesty grabs his attention, and he lays his phone face down on the table, cocking his head as if he's sizing me up. We study each other for a moment. Then he glances around to make sure no one else is watching. He pulls a vape pen from his hoodie pocket and takes a quick puff before hiding it again.

He slowly exhales vapor into the air between us, then nods at me. “Want a hit?”

I sniff the air—it smells skunky. My eyebrows crease. I'm a bit stunned that he just recklessly did that in front of me. “You shouldn't be smoking that around your family. It's easy to recognize. And I'm a recovering addict, so no I don't want a hit.”

I pinch the tablecloth, now stunned at myself.Not sure why I let that slip.There’s no taking it back now.

“You can't get addicted to weed.”

“You can get addicted to anything, either physically or psychologically. And I didn't say I was addicted to weed. I'm…I’m addicted to what I’m compelled to take after I smoke.” I finished off the soda in my cup, wondering why such raw words keep coming out.Is it okay to be this candid with a teen?I have no clue. “And where did you even get that?” I add.

“Usual places. Don't you know them if you're an addict?”

A few locations come to mind—places I used to visit to buy pills when Ashley didn’t have any. It’s not hard to find what you want in this city.

Either way, I narrow my eyes at him. “I said 'recovering'.”

He sucks in another quick hit and then rests his forearms on the table, leaning closer as he exhales vapor in my face. “What have you tried?”

I cross my arms, unsettled that I'm sitting here watching a teenager do underage vaping. I’m also unsettled that I so willingly told him about my drug problem. That’s not something I go around blabbing about.

“How old are you?” I ask him.

“Thirteen. How old are you?”

“Twenty-eight.”

“Sounds old.”

My gaze softens. I should be annoyed at his comment, but worry is quickly replacing my other emotions. Being on any drug this young, even weed, is a road to disaster. “Have you tried other things?”

He shrugs. “Drinking. But I should be on harder shit. It's supposed to run in my blood. That’s what everyone says. They say I’m poison because Mommy loves meth; Daddy loves molly.”

I glance around as if I'd know what his parents look like. The adults are eating and the kids are playing—no sign of Miguel, Maribel, or Rico. And no one seems to be paying attention to our table, which is off to the side and behind some potted plants.

“Are your parents here?” I ask.

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