Basketball

It was such a small school, the freshmen had to be included to even make a basketball team. The senior girls chose to climb a set of ladder-type steps to the loft to change out of their uniforms after practice. They felt uncomfortable, they claimed, taking off their clothes in front of the freshmen.

Yeah, right! Like we couldn't smell the cigarette smoke or see it boiling out of the small square opening into which they'd just disappeared.

We didn't care though. Every day, four of us climbed up there during our "freshman" lunch period and smoked all the snipes we could find.

Occasionally, we'd hear them cussing a blue streak about a really long butt they'd left behind and now couldn't locate. We'd nearly burst trying to keep from laughing, especially because we didn't want the sophomores and juniors to guess our secret and tattle.

We washed our hands with soap, rinsed our mouths, and blew in each others faces. Nope, couldn't smell a thing. On our way from there to Home Ec one day, a guy in our class stopped to talk. Surrounded by our group, he suddenly asked if we'd been smoking.

Of course we all denied it, but when he persisted we wondered how he'd guessed. That's when we learned one smoker can't smell it on another.

That didn't stop us though. We were having too much fun outfoxing the older girls.

What did bring an end to our escapades was when the most skittish of our group got hold of a loaded cigarette. She was boldly puffing away when the tip blew off. The look on her face was priceless and we nearly fell out of the loft laughing.

I'm sure one of the older girls had bummed one too many from a senior guy and he'd played a trick on her by sticking a "load" in it.

That was the end of our adventures in smoking.

Lookin' back, I've often wondered how long the guy waited before asking what happened with the trick he'd played. If he only knew.