Random by Tom Leveen Page B

know my parents love me. They’re mad right now. Sure. Why not? I guess I would be too. But I know they love me. I wish my whole stupid thing hadn’t happened so they wouldn’t have to go through all this. I wish that for Jack, too. I mean, he didn’t do anything wrong. Except maybe be a huge nerd, ha-ha.
    â€œThey still married?” Andy asks me.
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œWow,” he says. “Who’d’ve thunk it was still possible?”
    I laugh—a very, very little—despite myself. “Yours?”
    â€œNot anymore.”
    â€œRecently?”
    â€œNah. A while back.”
    â€œI’m sorry.”
    â€œNo worries.”
    â€œNo worries” is something of an understatement considering where you are and what you are doing, I think, but have the intelligence not to say. But only barely.
    â€œIs that why you’re out there?” I ask anyway.
    â€œNot exactly.”
    â€œSo then why?”
    Andy sighs, but it’s not all showy like mine are. Like one of those nasal sighs.
    â€œYou really want to know?”
    â€œAll things considered, it’s the least you can do.”
    Andy hesitates. “All right,” he says. “Fine. But it’s just a bunch of sappy romantic horseshit likely to make your ears bleed.”
    I lie back on my mattress. “Don’t take this the wrong way,” I say, “but that sounds pretty good right now.”
    Andy grunts. Maybe it was another weird laugh.
    â€œAll right,” he says. “This is what happened.”

Kevin Cooper life is one giant fucking toilet bowl. and no one ever flushes. shit just piles up and piles up until it gets clogged. it doesn’t go anywhere. it just sits and rots and smells
    Like · Comment · Share · May 6, one year ago
    Tori Hershberger Super Duper Pooper Cooper? :)
    Kevin Cooper No tori I’m fucking serious.
    Tori Hershberger What’s going on?
    Kevin Cooper Can I just text you
    Â Noah Murphy likes this.
    Tori Hershberger Maybe later. I really need to study. Hang in there, okay?

EIGHT
    â€œHer name was Kayla,” Andy says.
    â€œUh-huh?” I say.
    â€œWe met at—”
    Thump, thump, thump.
    Dammit, Jack . . .
    â€œUh, hold on again,” I say, and get up.
    Jack is waiting impatiently when I open my door. He shoves his laptop toward me.
    â€œIt’s Noah,” he says.
    Juggling the phone while trying to keep my thumb over the receiver and take the laptop from Jack is something of a chore.
    â€œYou didn’t log me out?” I demand.
    â€œWhy didn’t you log yourself out, genius?”
    â€œBecause you came barging in here before I could!”
    â€œWhat possible interest could your stupid e-mail hold for me?”
    â€œI don’t know, looking for sexy softball team pictures maybe?”
    â€œI’d consider that if any of you were sexy.”
    At a loss, I resort to a withering glare.
    Jack, knowing he’s scored a point, jabs a finger toward me. “I’m making Pop-Tarts!” he declares, which actually does make me laugh out loud. God, I’ve got to learn to control myself. “When I’m done, I want my computer back and that’s it. Got it?”
    Several smart-ass responses come to mind, but since he just loaned me the laptop, I can’t exactly use any of them.
    â€œYes, yes,” I say to him, and drop to my knees, setting the laptop on my bed. I drop the phone on the mattress and quickly open the chat window.
    Noah’s message reads:
    Noah: Are you still there? I’m going to have to sneak out and find a way to get the car without anyone noticing.
    Crap. I write back:
    Me: What about your bike?
    Noah: Flat. You want me to hoof it?
    Me: If that’s what it takes. I owe you big-time.
    Noah: Yep. :) OK I’m leaving now.
    Me: THANK YOU NOAH!
    Something crackles over the flip phone. Andy’s still there. He’s saying something. I pick the