I thought I did a good con job at dinner
 
 last night. Now I’ll probably catch
 
 an earful about rapid weight loss from Mom.
 
 Heather is definitely on my shit list.
 
 But apparently the loosening
 
 of my jeans has not escaped notice.
 
 Now if I can just run into Trey.
 
 I’d call him about scoring for Dad,
 
 but Stockton is too far away. So
 
 last night, when everyone wandered
 
 off to their bedrooms, I called Grade E.
 
 I kept the request cryptic, of course,
 
 and asked to meet away from the Sev.
 
 Wouldn’t do to get busted there, where
 
 I’m supposed to start work on Monday.
 
 Speaking of Grady, what time is it,
 
 anyway? The clock says ten thirty.
 
 Crap! I was supposed to meet him
 
 at ten. I jump into clothes and dash
 
 for my phone. Great. A message.
 
 It’s Grady, and he isn’t happy.
 
 Where the fuck are you? It’s ten
 
 fifteen. You’ve got five minutes!
 
 I hit call return, fingers crossed.
 
 “Hey, Grady, it’s me. Sorry I’m late.
 
 I…uh…got hung up with my mom.
 
 I can be there in a couple of minutes.”
 
 He agrees to meet me at the state
 
 park. But I’ll want a taste.
 
 I hope he means a taste of crystal,