Up in Smoke

Urban Slang Dictionary

Chince: To rip someone off, providing them with a less than adequate amount of cannabis. Past tense: Chinced.

Deke: A deceptive move that induces an opponent to move out of position.

Double-baggie: Wrapping a plastic bag around another to make the amount of weed inside it seem larger or more in quantity than really meets the eye.

Pack: A quantity of weed, typically one ounce or more, sold to a dealer who will then sell that weed in smaller quantities to others. The size of a pack varies depending on the desire of the dealer.

Papes: A term for rolling papers.

L-pape: Two rolling papers conjoined perpendicularly, in a way that resembles an L shape. Commonly used for rolling larger joints.

Re-up: To replenish your drug supply.

Shake: The loose, leftover and crumbled up weed that accumulates at the bottom of a container.

Twin: Two grams of weed.

Waste yute: Brampton slang with Jamaican roots. A young person that is a waste of time and space.

Zip: An ounce of weed.

“Yo, do you have my money?” sixteen-year-old Emil yells at me from down the hall of our school, Fletcher's Meadow Secondary. He swings his arms, stomps his feet and plants his muddied black Air Forces right in front of me.

“No,” I scoff.

“You said you were gonna get it at lunch,” Emil inches his fingers forward, signalling for a twenty dollar bill to find its place in his palm.

“I told you I’d think about it,” I quip. “And I’m not giving you shit!”

“But I sold you a twin,” he maintains.

“No, you didn’t! You fucking chinced me!” I shout. Emil’s friends, Sage and Psalm, stand by the lockers across the hall. They overhear us and run to Emil’s defense.

“Yo, just chill out,” Psalm asserts.

“And you double-baggied that shit to try and make it look fat!” I roll my eyes and resume yelling at Emil without a care in the world for Psalm’s request.

“Just give the guy his money,” Sage steps towards me, places a hand on my shoulder and starts aggressively rocking me back and forth.

I brush him off and lift my finger to speak, only to change plans abruptly. I dart for the North hallway. There’s no point sticking around since it’s three against one.

I glance back. Emil, Sage and Psalm are trailing behind me. I pivot and wait for them to catch up.

“And Ahmeer even told me I didn’t have to pay for it, so cut the shit!” I yell, flailing my arms for extra emphasis.

During second period, I called Ahmeer out into the hall to justify why I wouldn't be giving Emil any money. He said it was fine and even offered me protection if Emil was gonna give me a hard time.

“Well, he’s not here to defend you, so where’s my money?” Emil questions.

“When you re-up, who are you gonna buy your packs from?” I scold. Emil’s eyes pop from his head. We both know he’ll return to Ahmeer. “Oh, okay then! You would’ve at least given me a one point-five, if you respected me or wanted me to buy from you again,” I snarl.

Emil pouts his lips, signaling his disinterest in my repeat service.

“Well, I was selling it for twenty and you wanted it, so pay up,” he retorts.

“How much is your pack?” I ask.

“A zip,” Emil snaps.

“And you gave me a point-five?” I gape.

“Hey, at least it’s something,” Emil shrugs. “Plus, I need to pay to re-up, so just send it!”

“And tell me, exactly, why would I do that?” I quip.

“Hey man, getting ripped off is a part of life,” Emil points out, ironically.

“Okay, enough of this bickering shit," Sage boasts up his chest to tower over me. But I’m five foot nine and he’s about the size of a gnome, so its hardly intimidating.

“You bought a twin, so chop chop!” Sage claps, “Let’s go! Give the guy his fucking money!”

“Lea! Just give it,” Psalm pulls me in by the arm. “This will all be over once you do and you’re smart enough to know that he’s not worth it,” he whispers in my ear.

I give Psalm a look. I get what he’s saying, but Sage’s smart-ass mouth triggers me to respond.

“You know, you’re really starting to piss me the fuck off,” Sage grabs me by the forearms, walks me backwards and slams my back against the lockers. “Are you gonna give the guy his money or not?”

“Fine. I’ll give him a five, since that’s how much he gave me," I pout.

“But I sold you a twin!” Emil insists. I roll my eyes and he lets out an inaudible giggle that only I notice. What a virtue signalling ass hat.

“I’ll give you a five! That’s it!” I assert.

“Fuck that!” Emil scoffs.

I never really meant it. I just offered up a five because I knew if it came down to it, I was willing to pay for what only should be owed. But, I knew Emil’s pride was too high to accept the five, so I wouldn’t have to end up giving him shit anyway.

“Yeah! A twin is twenty!” Sage adds.

“He gave me A POINT-FIVE… OF SHAKE!” I shout.

Sage and Psalm begin to snicker because now they get why I'm being so defensive.

“I get what you’re saying. But right now, I’m out the extra money that I WOULD HAVE HAD if you actually PAID for the twin. Plus, I’m gonna re-up after this, so just send it,” Emil demands.

“And what does that have to do with me?” I ask.

“'Cause, I’ll give you one point five from my new pack.”

“Fuck that!” I shout.

“Okay fine. Just send me the money for the amount that you owe then,” Emil grins.

Just that sentence alone tells me he knows what he gave me isn’t worth shit. I plow through him, Sage and Psalm back to the main hallway.

“Yo, where are you going?” Emil’s voice trails behind me. “Where’s my money?”

“For five dollars of shake? Do you respect me?” I yell.

“Do you respect me?” he yells back.

“You probably have some on you anyway,” I retort.

“You’re right. I do. About three grams,” he smirks.

That’s more than enough to fill a blunt. I scrunch my eyebrows, close my fists and contemplate the one hundred and one ways this scenario might pan out if I'd just punch him in the face right now.

Emil rips a small, light blue Bic from Sage’s hand and two scrunched up zigzags from his back pocket. He leans up against the lockers and licks his papes together to make an L-shaped spliff.

“I don’t know why you’re making that face,” Emil says. He looks up at me then back down at the pile of weed and grabba he’s holding in a lined piece of paper.

He seems relaxed. Way more focused on rolling that spliff than anything else right now. Maybe it's over.

“You did all that for what? Such a waste yute!” I turn away and mumble under my breath.

“I’m a what?” He gawks.

“You’re. A. Waste. Yute,” I turn back and repeat.

Emil folds the paper with his L-pape inside and places it in his back pocket. He steps towards me and begins shadow boxing at my head and abdomen.

“Stop!” I scream. I uncross my arms and kick right at his crotch. He jumps back so my foot barely grazes his inseam.

"Did you just..." he looks down and dramatically checks the zipper area of his pants. He pauses for a second then reaches for the body spray out of the side of his backpack, and readjusts the blue Bic in his left hand. He presses down on the safety of the Bic and on the nozzle of the Axe. A cloud of fire appears then quickly dissipates. I jump back to avoid the heat haze.

Emil glares at the Bic in his left, the Axe in his right then back at me. He starts chasing me around the main floor of the school and I dart for the South hallway. But, it’s too crowded, so I bust a you-ie.

Emil parks right in front of me with his arms and legs spread wide open. He inches side to side like a line backer. I could just run the other way, but I might corner myself. So, instead, I charge towards him, ready to deke him out.

I outmaneuver him but he keeps a tight pace behind me. I pick up enough speed that I can tell he's a good distance from me, but my hair is so long that I can feel it brushing against him as I turn corners. We're going in circles and circles around the main floor of the school and he's getting closer and closer. Then, whoosh! Click. He sprays another cloud of Axe and pulls back on the safety of his Bic.

Out of pure instinct, I crouch forward, flip my hair over my head and lift my hands to cover my face. While bent over, I hear ohs and gasps from all the students in the hallway. I flip my head back over and everyone is staring at me in horror. I touch and feel for what is now my thin, singed and ash filled hair.

“Yo Leah, I’m so sorry,” Emil attempts to console me, so he won’t get in trouble.

“Yo, your shits fucked up,” Sage blurts.

My lips quiver and tear ducts begin to fill. I sprint for the bathroom. Checking the mirror, I desperately try to tame what looks like the aftermath of touching a Van de Graaff generator. While running my fingers through my hair, tiny tumbleweeds of stringy, blonde curls begin piling on the floor all around me. It looks like a barber shop in here.

Malia, an eleventh grader I pass in the halls from time to time, follows me inside.

“Oh honey, come here,” she inches towards me with open arms for a hug. “Let me help you.”

She begins pulling out even more clumps and chunks of my hair, until the length practically no longer reaches my under boob.

“You know it smells like hair straightener in here? Like burnt weave," she patronizes.

“Does it?” I ask. “I didn’t notice.”

I stare back at the redness in my eyes, snort and swallow my tears. I head back outside and Emil comes running over. He starts plucking, picking and pulling out the leftover burnt strands of my hair while attempting to give a half-assed apology.

“Well, I guess we’re even now,” he shrugs.

---

Emil and I were both suspended for seven days. I was suspended for starting the fight. He was suspended for lighting my hair on fire.

The Vice Principal asked me if I wanted to press charges. So, I stepped out of the office and dialed my Mom to ask for her opinion. She said since I had already kicked Emil in the balls, I shouldn’t punish him anymore by filing a police report. Instead, I should make him pay for my haircare.

My hair used to be down to my butt. I lost six inches from the incident.

That same night, my mom and I went to the salon and the hairdresser insisted on cutting another two inches, because the fire gave me such split ends. My new haircut sat just above my shoulders.

My mom spent about two hundred and fifty dollars on hair growth shampoos, serums and leave-in conditioners. The next day, she faxed in her receipts to the school and the following week Emil’s mom sent a cheque for the total amount.

It’s been eight years since, and I’m still trying to grow my hair back to its original length.