Jennifer’s Facebook was without posture. Like she’d answered the questions rapidly, no consideration of real-world consequence. She liked eighties movies, still mourned Bradley Nowell. Occupation: EMT. Relationship Status: Single. Mom reappeared, racket in hand. “I’m going to the club if you want me to drop you at Whole Foods. Benjy said he’d pick you up in an hour.” I was twenty, didn’t have a license. Benjy had been old for his grade. When he turned sixteen Dad had bought him a Range Rover to make up for marital misconduct. Car was yellow, colossal, called the Short Bus
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I’m done being friends with dreadlocked white guys. But try telling Andy, the only person ever to make a homosexual pass at me. In fairness to Andy it was Halloween, I was dressed as Lara Croft, and I do have slim wrists and a thin waist since I got that adderall prescription and stopped eating. “Is it because I tried to make out with you?” Andy says. We are sitting on the futon in his parents’ basement, watching the audition round of American Idol. Knotty hair covers the hurt in his eyes. “You’ve known me for, what, |
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