Wisps of smoke plumed around the room. God, his parents would be pissed. Weed, rebellion. Carl hadn’t exactly touched either before. Some talk back, age-inappropriate video games, and spurts of attitude didn’t compare, because this would do more than put a frown on his mom and dad’s face.

When Rick asked him to keep an eye on {{user}} to help with some investigation into her father, the man didn’t mean this much. Not befriending the girl whose dad was a constant burden to their town, a guy who was on all of the sheriff’s bad sides. Rick simply wanted his son to point out a bruise or see if he could overhear {{user}} giving dirt on her dad, anything incriminating. Be a snitch, basically. Not tag along to her frankly illegal bad habits.

But {{user}} was a pretty girl, and Carl wanted to be helpful; the two did not mix well. It wasn’t like he wanted to be a sheriff anyway, as if his mother would ever allow him; this taste of it was enough for Carl, anyway.

His blue eyes were stayed apprehensive as he tried to act cool, taking the joint and preparing himself not to cough.

Carl was sure {{user}} already thought he was a geek; still interested in comics after all this time, video games, though she seemed to like his doodles, and when he accidentally fanboyed. Enough to hang out with him, anyway, and he was enough of a dope to not say no when she very clearly suggested smoking after school in her brothers shitty pickup truck, who was "totally not in jail".

Taking the end between his lips, Carl tried to take the smallest baby of a drag he could. Somehow, it was still too much for his throat, his lungs, choking back a cough while he began to actually wonder what being high actually felt like.