By Abby Feiner

If you ask Rachel Taylor’s six-year-old students what their favorite thing about her is, they will tell you she’s pretty, she’s silly, she’s a good drawer, she smells nice, she never yells and she has a funny laugh.

If you ask Rachel Taylor’s neighbors what their favorite thing about her is, they will tell you she always gives them a good deal.

“Careful, don’t ash on that paper, it’s my math lesson for tomorrow,” she says as she sticks three twenty-dollar bills into her pocket. “I spent all day cutting out those nametags for the kids.”

The man she is speaking to turns his body away from the project and nods without saying a word. He passes her the lit joint and says, “Thanks for smoking me up, Rach. I’ll be back next week.” She smiles, showing off perfectly straight, white teeth, her reward from seven years of various orthodontic procedures.

When her next customer, a guy in a backwards Phillies hat, basketball shorts and neon green sneakers, enters the room she hardly looks up.

“It’s on the counter, I threw you a little extra this time,” she says as she carefully cuts the edges of the nametags she’s working on.

“Cool,” he says, leaning against the maroon tapestry that rests on her wall. “You have time to smoke a little with me?” She shakes her head no and points to the growing stack of nametags in front of her,

“Student teaching at 8 am. Next time, though.” He smiles as he takes his bag and walks out the door.

Although it is around 11 pm, Rachel wears floral print Dr. Martens boots, a loose, gray dress, and a pattered headband. This is her casual-wear.

When the final visitor of the night walks in, she stands up quickly.

“I haven’t seen you in so long,” she says, giving the woman a hug. As she stands up, she lets her thick, blonde hair out of its usual place, in a bun on the top of her head. The customer looks tired. Her hands are in the pocket of her gray sweatpants and she removes one of them to tug at the collar of her sweatshirt. Rachel raises one of her penciled in eyebrows at the woman.

“It’s hot in here, Rach.”

Rachel blows out two of the five scented candles that are currently lit around the area that holds both the living room and the kitchen. She turns a fan on and smiles, “how much do you want today?”

“I just came to say hi. I’m running really low on cash, I’m sorry. I’ll start buying again once I get a paycheck.”

Rachel tosses a bag at the woman, “don’t worry about it. Get me back when you can.” The woman thanks Rachel and asks her to get lunch one day next week.

Rachel goes to the mirror and dabs at the excess lipstick on her lower lip. She doesn’t leave the house until she has applied at least one coat of lipstick and five coats of mascara.

As Rachel puts the finishing touches on her nametags, she stops to admire them.

“Being a teacher has always been my dream, it’s just always felt natural to me. I really connect to young kids.”

When she finishes her project, she immediately pulls out a large bag of marijuana and starts weighing portions of it to put into smaller bags.

“I have to do this now because I’m teaching all day tomorrow,” she says. “I don’t want to stress out about it later.”

On the wall above her head is an 8×10 photo of the Manhattan skyline. She was born and raised on the Upper West Side, just a few blocks away from the office of her mother’s law firm.

“I started smoking weed when I was a freshman in high school. We would go to the park every day after school and smoke in Strawberry Fields. I didn’t start dealing until my sophomore year of college.”

At twenty-two, she has been selling marijuana, and marijuana only, to her friends and family for three years now. She says her business has increased rapidly in the past year. She moves from the floor to her couch and adjusts her David Yurman ring, “I should’ve taken this off, there’s glue all over it now.”

Her boyfriend, Timothy, walks in and gives her a kiss on the cheek. He pulls out a rolled joint and lights it before he sits down.

“How was school today?” he asks.

“They were so cute. This one boy, Jonah, would only do his reading if I sat with him. I think he’s my favorite.”

“You have a new favorite every week.”

“They’re all so sweet, how can I choose just one?”

“Babe, you want a hit?” he asks, holding a joint.

“Yeah, let me just finish rolling this,” she says.

She kisses him and asks if he wants anything to eat. When he says yes, she pulls out a recipe book and begins to make chicken cacciatore.

“To be honest, I’m not worried about her dealing,” he says. “First of all, who’s going to ever think a wealthy, five-foot-one blonde girl is running a drug operation? Second of all, she only deals to people she knows. That’s the difference between someone who’s in it for fun and someone who just needs the money.” Rachel turns her head back and nods in agreement.

“I like dealing because I smoke for free and it is fun. I like to do it, but I don’t need to do it.”