“Pizza, Polaroids, and Other Kinds of High”*

It was Saturday. The kind of day that smelled like late summer—warm pavement, melted slushies, and freshly cut grass. You had a pre-roll tucked into the inside pocket of your hoodie, just in case. You weren’t anxious or anything… but sometimes it helped to know it was there.

Kevin had texted you early.

Kev: “Wanna go out today? Real date. I’ll even pay. Like a gentleman.”

You’d rolled your eyes at that and replied: “Only if there’s pizza involved.”

So now the two of you were walking down the sidewalk, hand in hand, his backpack swinging off one shoulder, your shoes slightly untied like always. You weren’t high yet. You didn’t need to be—not when Kevin kept glancing at you like he still couldn’t believe you were real.

“I have a surprise,” he said suddenly.

You raised an eyebrow. “If it’s another weird soda flavor, I swear—”

“No. Better.” He grinned and swung his backpack around, unzipping the front pocket dramatically. Then he pulled out an old Polaroid camera.

You blinked. “That thing’s ancient.”

“It was my brother’s,” he said, brushing dust off the lens. “Still works. I thought we could take pictures today. Document our epic journey to obtain pizza.”

You laughed—actually laughed. “You’re such a dork.”

“And yet,” he said, holding the camera up to you, “you’re still here.”

You stuck your tongue out just as he snapped the photo. The camera whirred, and the square printed out slowly.

“Great,” you muttered. “That’s gonna look terrible.”

“It’ll be perfect,” he said.

⸻

You ended up at a tiny pizza place near the river. Booths lined the windows, and there was a dusty arcade machine in the corner that only played one level of Galaga before freezing. Kevin beat your high score by six points and wouldn’t shut up about it.

When the pizza came, he folded his slices in half like a weirdo. You picked yours apart, eating the crust last. Somewhere between your third slice and your second root beer, he pulled out the Polaroid again.

“One more,” he said. “But like… a real one this time.”

You leaned in close, your cheek pressed against his, your lips twisted in a goofy half-smile. The camera flashed. The photo printed, slow and whirring.

You stared at the picture as it developed—his arm around you, your hair a little messy, both of you squinting from the flash.

You looked happy.

Not high. Not hiding. Just… happy.

You slid the photo into your hoodie pocket.

⸻

Later, as the sun started to set, the two of you walked back toward the bridge. You lit up while Kevin leaned against the railing, watching the orange sky turn gold. You didn’t even finish the whole joint—just a couple puffs, enough to mellow the buzz in your chest.

Kevin reached for your hand again. You let him take it.

“This was good,” you said.

He looked over at you, eyes soft. “You mean the pizza or me?”

You smiled, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“Both.”