You will never know her smoky soul.

She lit a cigarette, holding it between her teeth while she rummaged for a lighter from her bag.
I could feel a scream bubble up in the depths of my gut. The type of scream I’ve learned to control over the years.
The parent-y type of scream. The scream that comes with stern, patronizing tones and the pointy finger. I have learned to replace the patronizing tones for chill, collected ones, and the pointy index finger for the middle one.
So I said nothing and held my crap together as the twelve year old girl went to town with a 25-pack of Marlboros.
She lit a cigarette, then looked at our faces and flushed a little bit. She was the kind of smart that made you doubt everything you have ever believed. Heartbreakingly poetic. Refreshingly rebellious.
“Sorry...“ At least the girl had some shame.
“Do you guys want some?” Cursed at myself for making assumptions.
Why, yes. Of course I want a cigarette at a writing camp for nerdy middle schoolers in the middle of the preppy, prestigious Stanford University.
Ben spoke first. “Okay, you’re like nine. Stop acting like you’re better than us for skipping a few grades. Can we stop the 80’s grunge for a second and think about the consequences of what we’re doing here?”
I interrupted him before he could get too harsh. He went on anyway.
“Seriously, though, Professor Beard will be back any second and you’re gonna get kicked out of Stanford and then expelled if she sees you. Were you here during orientation? They went on about cigarettes for like twenty minutes. You’re risking expulsion. You won’t stand a chance at college here.”
She looked at us like we were aliens, then seemed to find home in her cigarette.
Thick columns of smoke crawled out of her nose and slightly parted lips.
She said the word like it was forbidden. A far-fetched fantasy.
“College.”
She seemed to ponder the idea for a bit, her fingertips brushing the grass, slightly holding on to the blades, like she was afraid she’d defy gravity and float her way to the stars.
She seemed unsure for a split second, but then her hands left the ground and she flew off into outer space again.
The nature engraved in her bones betrayed the potential of her intelligence.
I felt a sudden, jarring and crippling fear for this girl, and for the world without what this girl could make it. A fear that still whispers obscurities in low, somber hums.
She scoffed at the universe.
“I won’t make it past high school.”
She was lost, but not the good kind of lost. Maybe Ben and I were lost too, but at least we were looking.
She was the kind of lost where you don’t know you’re lost until it’s too late to find yourself.

Maybe she would.
I’ll never know.

She lit another cigarette.