Poison Shy by Stacey Madden

hadn’t used it in months. I wrote my initials into the dust on the screen as I waited for it to start up. An alert informed me that my hard drive was riddled with viruses. I closed the warning, along with a few pop-up ads for penis enlargement and debt consolidation, and signed into the Kill ’Em All email account I never had reason to use. The only message in my inbox was a memo about Ansel’s farewell party from the previous year.
    I pulled out Melanie’s email address.
    Identity:
[email protected]
To:
[email protected]
Cc:
Bcc:
Subject:
hey
    Hey Melanie. It’s Brandon (aka Mr. Exterminator) from the library. How’s it going? I’d like to take you up on your offer to have a drink but I just wanted to ask — are you single? Awkward question, I know, but I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes. If you are, I’d LOVE to get together. Let me know. Brandon.
    PS: You looked great the other day!
    I made a turkey sandwich and had a shower. When I came back to the computer there was a message in my inbox.
    Identity:
[email protected]
To:
[email protected]
Cc:
Bcc:
Subject:
re: hey
    No boyfriend. Chillax, dude. Are you free Thursday night? No class on Fridays, woohoo! I plan on getting smashed. You should join me. Bloody Paw, 10 pm. Be there or be retarded. Mel.
    ps: yur gay
    I zeroed in on “No boyfriend.” Had I imagined Darcy’s hand in Melanie’s back pocket? It didn’t necessarily mean anything. Maybe it had been a projection of my own cheek-palming desires. In any case, her email invigorated me. I gave Chad a call and let him know I was up for coming out. He told me to be at “The Injured Grizzly” at nine.
    â€œSo glad you decided to join us, buddy!” Chad shouted over the way-too-loud indie rock. He poured me a glass of beer from one of the three pitchers on the table.
    â€œYeah, it’s nice to finally get to talk to you,” Farah added. She was wearing a breast-spilling top and a skirt so short it was more like a thick belt. Despite the attire she seemed nice enough. “Chad has told me so many stories already.”
    â€œNothing too bad I hope,” I said, because that’s what you’re supposed to say.
    â€œNot yet. So I hear you’re an exterminator.”
    I sipped my beer. “That’s right.”
    â€œThat’s so interesting!” She put her chin in her hands. “You must have seen some pretty nasty things. Got any horror stories?”
    â€œTell her about the hospital,” Chad said.
    â€œOh no! A
hospital
? You’re kidding.”
    I cleared my throat. “You know how everybody wants to ‘go green’ these days? I mean, take this place for example. Save the bears, animal cruelty, all that shit. A few months back, some hospital administrator has this genius idea to implement a composting plan for getting rid of food waste. They bring in these massive composting bins and plop them on a small patch of grass out back. Start putting all the leftover scraps from the cafeteria inside. Next thing you know, thousands, I’m talking
thousands
of rats are hanging around. Feasting. Screwing. Breeding. Sneaking inside through the air vents, making lab rats out of themselves. We found a whole pile of them dead near some boxes of insulin in one of the storage rooms.”
    â€œOh my God. Did you get rid of them?”
    â€œHey,” Chad said. “This is my
man
we’re talking about.”
    â€œWe think we did. It’s hard to know for sure, especially with rats.”
    â€œWhich hospital was it?”
    I shrugged. “Sorry. I signed a confidentiality agreement.”
    â€œJesus.” Farah bit her nails.
    â€œWho wants another round?” Chad asked.
    I was about to offer to pay when a hand gripped my shoulder from behind. A gravelly voice said, “Excuse me?”
    I spun around and looked directly into Darcy Sands’ yellow