Whosoever Is Not Killed for Love Is Dead Meat


I found those words looking as panicked and prophetic as graffiti on the bare chest of my teenage crush posing for his new movie. I bent over his glossy chest and went into a spasm of coughs, ripping him from the magazine I couldn’t afford to buy. Tess taught me that trick. I rolled up the page, slipped it inside the arm of my sweater and bought a pack of gum to clear my conscience.

At home, I made my arm go limp and shook it over Tess’s homework till it slid out for her to unroll like a map over Algebra. But she didn’t see what I saw; instead, her face looked pinched as she shook her head asking what was wrong with me…he looked like a girl. When the flavor wore off my gum, I used it to stick him above my bed and stared into his smooth…

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