Cupcake by Rachel Cohn

the Linzer tarts we made in class today even though Nikolai from Latvia sliced his thumb in the mixer while we were making the dough and had to go to the hospital for stitches?"
    If I spent half as much time going to school as I did thinking about what I'll do while dodging school, I would probably be master chef by, like, tomorrow.
    "Helen got it right," I announced to Autumn. Our other close girlfriend from San Francisco had been headed to UC Santa Cruz after high school graduation--until she wound up pregnant this past summer. And proving Helen was the only true punk of our group, she decided to keep the baby--and get married!
    "How do you figure?" Autumn asked. "I mean, I'm glad Helen's happy with the choice she made, but how weird is it that she's giving up on her dreams of art school?"
    "I don't think she's giving up dreams. Her dreams just changed. And now her choice means she'll have to adapt to the circumstances.
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    Rise to the challenge. No possibility of falling into slackerdom."
    "Slackerdom really does not get its fair due in our wealth-driven society. You know?"
    The sun had set over the horizon, chilling the air. "Do you miss San Francisco?" I asked Autumn.
    "Yeah," Autumn sighed. "Do you miss Shrimp?"
    "I can barely figure out how to get through the day without missing Shrimp."
    "You going to do anything about that?"
    "If you mean am I going to break the 'no contact' agreement with Shrimp, the answer is no. I haven't broken down that far yet. But I'm reserving the right."
    I want Shrimp to break the agreement. And since he apparently is not psychic, or he has other ways to spend his time (don't think about that, CC, don't even consider the possibility that Shrimp has happily adapted to NZ), I want to figure out how to get this new body of mine some attention that does not involve "dating." I want that connection to be hassle-free, safe, and easy. I want an orgasm that's not a gift from my own hands.
    It's like my leg is healed but my heart refuses, and until it does, I don't know how to get out of the rear window mentality.
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    ***
    TEN
    Houston, I have a problem. I seem to have lost contact with the heterosexual world.
    Dallas, if you're listening, the scarier part is that lisBETH may have been right about the men in this city--at least from my current view of it.
    And yo, Austin, if you're out there--could you lend our party one of those twangy alt-country singers who croak our brilliant tumbleweed lyrics?
    Danny decided to throw me a "coming out" slash belated eighteenth birthday party to celebrate my reintroduction into society as a newly minted adult with a newly minted castless leg. But at this rooftop Halloween party in Greenwich Village, Danny's society was made up mostly of alterna-crap indie-band-type gay boys with super-cute faces and superbad haircuts. The few females in attendance were
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    of the Ani variety, whom I have mad respect for, but those chicks don't tend to gravitate toward ones like me. I am Chaka Khan meets The Clash in the land of full-on boy-girl lust-o-rama. I had no place at my own party.
    Even my Halloween costume alter ego, Mrs. VonHuffingUptight--the Chanel suit--wearing society bitch who is so desperate for male attention she would shoot up Botox-crack cocktails if she thought it would make her look more attractive to men--was feeling the confusion. It's not that she/I wanted to experiment on the other side. It's more like we weren't so sure anymore that pure straight folk still roamed the earth.
    I may have been dressed like the fabulous socialite Mrs. VonHuffingUptight, but she and I suffered a big case of wallfloweritis. I could not be bothered to work this rooftop, despite the chatter and good times being enjoyed all around, particularly on the dance floor. From my wallflower observation point the dancing area highlights included: some dude dressed and coiffed like Morrissey grooving with one of those French Louis kings, an Ani girl who was lip/hand/hip-locked with a