Jane hurtles into wakefulness as two things register: she is not supposed to be hearing voices, and she is not supposed to be smelling…is that the blast from her past she thinks it is?
Peeking out over the bottom of her basement window, through the tangle of winter rhododendron, she sees another small forest, of legs, slouchy denim and untied sneakers, black leggings and Ugg boots and ballerina flats.
“Hey, Jase, ya bogart, pass the doobage. We have to get to first period.”
It was only a matter of time, she supposed, before kids discovered this place, but she can still hope they content themselves with the yard and don’t actually break in. She slides back down the wall to sit at its base, patting her chest to soothe her pounding heart and fanning away that smell…rank.