DAHLIA AND EZRA "SMOKE A JOINT" out on the balcony, dangling their arms over the railings, while Marisol and I sit with our legs crossed over one another. It reeks. The wind off the water rips through my hair, stinging my skin with residual salt. Below us, on the beach, children play in the crashing waves. Above us, the sun beats down on our shoulders.

"Can I try some of that?" I ask.

Dahlia blows out a steady stream of smoke. It's that earthy, musky smell I noticed in her mini bus—like a skunk. "You got $20?"

She's taken her t-shirt off and is just wearing her bikini, two small strips of bright fabric. A glittering silver chain hangs from her belly button, similar to the ring in Marisol's nose. All three of them have more of these little things in their ears—Ezra one in each ear, Marisol two, and Dahlia several, going up and down her entire ear. I wonder if this is some sort of ritual, and if I can take part in it. I would place mine... in my nose, like Marisol's, only I would not want one so flashy.

"What?" I ask.

"Kidding, kidding. Literally bought this with the money my moms gave me to go see a movie." She turns to pass "the joint" to me.

Marisol intercepts her. "Are you sure that's such a good idea?"

"It's just weed, honey, relax."

"But she doesn't even know what it is."

"Maybe Marisol's right," says Ezra. "Maybe she shouldn't try it until she learns more about it."

"The junkie agrees with me," Marisol says.

"The recovered addict," Ezra corrects her. "I don't do any of that shit anymore. Just weed."

"I want to try it," I say. "Whatever it is. If Dahlia is doing it, it can't be that bad for me." Of course, the same wouldn't go for Ezra.

"If Dahlia jumped off a bridge, would you?" Marisol asks.

"If Dahlia jumped off a bridge, I'd assume she knew it was safe and follow her."

Dahlia fist-bumps me. "That's my girl."

"If y'all are going to peer-pressure her into trying it—" Marisol begins.

"It's entirely your decision, hun," Ezra tells me.

"Completely up to you," Dahlia agrees.

Marisol rolls her eyes. "Then you need to tell her all about it first, okay? I want her to make an educated decision about whether or not she wants to dabble in drugs."

"Again, it's literally just weed," Dahlia says. "Not cocaine."

"My father is Dionysus," I remind them. "My body can handle almost any drug."

"Not cocaine," Dahlia insists. Then she pulls a small clear baggie out of her pocket and shows it to me. Inside is a small green substance that looks more like an herb than a drug. "So this is weed."

"AKA pot, hemp, marijuana, cannabis, grass, Mary Jane, dope—" Ezra adds.

"I mean tell her all the things that can go wrong and what it does to your body," Marisol says. "Smartass."

"It only ever goes wrong if you get it from a sketchy dealer. And I trust my dealer. His name's Fernando. He'd never lead me astray. It's like that song from the second Mamma Mia!"

"You should get it from me," Ezra tells her. "I grow it all myself, so you know you're getting the good shit."

"No shit, you sell?" Dahlia asks.

"Oh, yeah. Just a little bit."

"It's also illegal," Marisol says. "Here in Florida, anyways."

"Legality is not indicative of morality," I reply. "It only serves to show what the kings'—or queens'—current interests are."

"We don't have a king," Marisol reminds me. "Or a queen, you little autocratic feminist, you."

"We have a dualarchy," I tell her. Because with as much as she's taught me about America, I might as well teach her about Apollonisi. "We have two rulers in place. One will always lead us into battle, while the other stays on the throne. So that if our warrior king or queen is killed, we won't be left with no rule."

"And we have just one president," Dahlia replies. "That's both an egoist and a coward and would never risk his life like that. Yay, democracy."

"He was not elected democratically," I tell them. "What was that thing you told me about, the Electoral College? That is not a democracy. Your people are not the Electoral College and yet they are the ones in charge. What you have is an oligarchy."

"Amen to that," says Dahlia.

"No," says Marisol. "We don't have an oligarchy, or a democracy. We have a republic, with elected officials in charge. Which is basically an oligarchy, but it keeps the people compliant, 'cause it gives us the illusion of power."

"We do have power," Ezra argues. "We each have a little teensie-weensie bit of power. None of us have any more or any less power than the other. We lose that power when we don't vote. But when we all exercise our power at once, we can make a difference. Like, one person, on their own, might not have any power in our government. But all of us combined, we are the power."

Marisol rolls her eyes. "Spoken like a true white man."

"Spoken like an effeminate gay man," Ezra says. "And a recovered addict. And someone that's lived below the poverty line for his entire life. I know what I'm talking about."

"Guys, let's just get back to the weed," Dahlia says. "Ezra, you want some more?"

"You don't even need to ask." He takes the "joint" from her and raises it to his lips with a drawn-out "yeeeee-haw!"

"So it can cause memory issues," Marisol tells me, like she's reciting from a book she memorized long ago, "psychosis, and schizophrenia. And you can get addicted to it. And, like I said, it's not legal, so there's no way to regulate it, so you really have no idea what it is you're getting. For all we know that weed could be laced with, like, chemicals and you could, like, die."

"All the more reason to smoke it!" Ezra says. "Also, Dahlia, buy from me so you won't have that problem."

"Not Fernando's weed," Dahlia assures us. "It's got no chemicals. I smoke it for the health benefits."

"Which are...?" I ask.

She waves her hand dismissively. "Oh, lots of things. Like I'm pretty sure it helps with, uh, ADHD or whatever. I don't have ADHD. You get the point, though. It can also help prevent Alzheimer's, and diabetes. And it can regulate your metabolism, and cure headaches and nausea. Also, it lowers your blood pressure. Lots of good stuff, and I'm a slut for self care."

"Try it if you really want to," Marisol says. "I just don't think drugs are all that cool. You really can have a good time without getting high."

So Ezra passes me the joint and I take it between my fingers, a white wrapper burning at one end. Tentatively, I put it to my lips, half-expecting the effects of the drug to instantly hit me.

"One small puff," Dahlia instructs me. "For your first time. Suck it in, inhale, then exhale."

I do as she says. The smoke burns my throat as it goes down. I keel over, gagging, and hand the joint off to Dahlia. She takes a long, slow drag.

After a moment, once I can breathe again, I straighten back up. "I don't feel anything," I tell Dahlia, reaching for it. "Let me try again."

She holds her arm away from me. "No, no, no. Patience, child. It'll take a minute to kick in."