Get her high

Marijuana, the gateway ****. At least, in this case you're banking on it being the gateway to Ally's sweet little snatch. Some people say that weed kills the sex drive, but those motherfuckers are smoking the wrong damn Mary Jane. Weed can be a HELL of a **** for sex, and it especially ups female sensitivity while broadening their horizons in other mental faculties.

"Wanna get high?" you make Ally smile for the first time all day.

Smoking pot with Ally is smoking pot with any white girl across America: she talks too much and it takes too long to get the joint rolled. You find out a lot about Ally though, obviously: art major, parents divorced and mom remarried, bored of suburbia, progressive political views with zero understanding how any part of politics works beyond her narrow (but grossly inflated in Ally's view) philosophies.

"Like, if they just gave jobs to people in jail, they'd be providing a service and a source of, like, workers."

You don't have the heart to tell Ally that that already happens.

As Ally and you pass the joint, both of your eyes watering in the acrid smokey haze that her room quickly disappears into, your bodies gravitate closer and closer together. Before long you're both right next to each other on the coach and the joint is only a paltry roach. You are baaaaaaaaaaaaaked, my niggah' ("See, soft R so not offensive, right?")

Brushing up against Ally's sweatpants, you notice she's colder than most girls. There's almost a porceliain quality to her light skin that makes her look ethemeral. She sneers most of the time when she's thinking, but her kissable mouth hangs open when zoned out, which is thankfully most of the time. You rub Ally's leg, seeing how she responds.

"You got anything, like, harder?"