The Wonder Bread Summer by Jessica Anya Blau Read Free Book Online Page B

origami envelope. That was how Jonas packaged his coke. Allie had seen him in the stockroom one day with a Penthouse magazine open, picking out the most salient half-pages of photos and then folding them into tiny envelopes.
    It wasn’t as simple as Jonas made it look. Allie tried every combination of backward and forward and double folds on a half-page ad for Breck Shampoo, but nothing would hold its shape. Finally, she took the horoscope (Things are heating up for Virgo gals this month, be sure to cool your jets before you fly off . . .), folded it in half, and set it on her lap. She lifted the Wonder Bread bag from the floor, stuck her hand in, pulled out a palm-full of coke, and dumped it into the fold of the magazine page.
    Allie had no idea what three and a third grams would feel like (she couldn’t even remember how many grams were in an ounce), but she lifted the magazine page and lowered it as if she were weighing it. Somehow pretending she knew what she was doing gave her a nice feeling of control. A shimmery layer of coke stuck to her hand and she wondered if Mike would want to lick it off. But of course it would seem bizarre if she offered up her palm. Allie wiped the remnants off on her jeans.
    “Okaaaay,” Allie whispered. “Got some of my paycheck!” She spun the Wonder Bread bag shut, tied the twisty around it, and stuck it under the front passenger seat. It seemed unsafe to get out of the car with the magazine page full of coke. Allie tapped on the horn a couple of times and looked into the rearview mirror. Mike was walking backward, talking to Jimmy as he inched his way toward the car. Then he turned and lightly jogged to the open window.
    “Are you a hooker?”
    “What? No. Why would you say that?” Allie looked down at herself, as if she were making sure she were still fully dressed.
    “Your license plate says CALL GIRL.”
    “It says CAL GIRL. Like California girl,” Allie said. Was Mike illiterate? He was so good-looking that it could make up for a lot of deficiencies, although maybe not illiteracy.
    “Is that for me?” Mike glanced at the coke on Allie’s lap.
    Allie nodded and lifted the magazine page by the two sides. “Here you go.” She moved it over to Mike, who started laughing.
    “Shit! Wait! Put it back on your lap.” Allie did as she was told. Mike ran around the car and got in the passenger side.
    “Hey,” Allie said, as he shut the door.
    “Where’s the magazine?”
    Allie pointed to the floor. Mike reached down, brought the magazine up, tore out two pages, ripped each page in half, then did some folding. “Do you have a spoon or something?”
    “No,” Allie said. “I wasn’t planning on selling coke. I came to pump gas but then realized I didn’t have any money with me.”
    “What about the price sheet?” Mike asked, and he grinned. Allie shrugged. Mike laughed, then reached over, scooped up some of the coke with his right hand and dropped it into one of the folded squares. In what looked to Allie to be fast motion, he folded the magazine around the coke into a tight little package, which he dropped into the breast pocket of his T-shirt. He did this three more times. Then he picked up the dusty page from Allie’s lap and licked it. Allie remembered the remnants she had dusted onto her jeans and regretted doing it. She could have gotten another lick.
    “This stuff is fucking unreal,” Mike said. “Where does your friend get it?”
    “I don’t know,” Allie said. “He’s in Berkeley. Or Oakland. Depending on what side of the street you’re on.”
    “Oakland. Fuck. I gotta spend some time in Oakland.” Mike paused, then looked over at her carefully. “So, if I go get some more cash, can you give me another three and a third grams just like this three and a third?”
    Ah. Clearly she had overestimated her coke measurements, Allie realized. Good to know. “Well,” she hedged, “yeah, but I’d have to stop off at my dad’s restaurant and get my