The Trouble with Lexie by Jessica Anya Blau Page A

someone who had become her friend. When they were caught, the shame was too much, Amy had said, and so she fled Alabama to a state where no one knew her, her family, her ex-husband’s family, her former lover’s family, or his wife’s family. When the divorce was being finalized, she changed her married last name, Jackson, to one that had no ties to people or places in any of the Southern states, a name picked on a whim from a copy of Architectural Digest sitting beside her: Hagan.
    Amy didn’t realize at the time that Hagan was German and often Jewish. When she discovered this (from a Jewish Hagan on a dating site who wanted to make sure they weren’t related), Amylaughed hysterically as she imagined her former in-laws finding out that she had a Jewish last name. She was already the devil to them and, being rural Southerners who had never met a Jew in their lives (that they knew of), they had primitive ideas of what a Jew was. Amy once told Lexie that there were many kids in junior high who thought Jews grew little lumps of horn on their heads.
    Lexie had never done most of the things Amy had done. But she liked that Amy’s life was big and full of mistakes. It made Lexie feel safe with Amy, like anything she did or said would only elicit a shrug and a tongue cluck.
    â€œOkay,” Lexie confessed. “I have a mad crush on him. But so what, right?”
    â€œExactly.” Amy pushed her chair back, kicked off her pumps, and put her feet up on the desk. “Have fun. Flirt your ass off. And don’t worry about it.”
    â€œBut I’ve been having panic attacks lately. I’ve even had to pop a couple Klonopin from the old bottle I’ve been carrying since graduate school.” Lexie stared at Amy’s stockinged feet. The thick, flesh-colored nylon blurred out Amy’s toes into one smooth lump that reminded Lexie of the crotch of a Barbie doll.
    â€œYou’ve been having panic attacks because of a crush?”
    â€œI think so.”
    â€œYou have two choices: Don’t go to Frito Friday, stop talking to the guy, and you’ll forget about him soon enough. Or, accept the crush and let it be.”
    â€œWhat if I let the Yahtzee God decide?” Lexie pulled her phone from her purse and started playing. “If I get over two hundred fifty, I’ll go to Frito Friday. Less than two hundred fifty . . .” Lexie stopped talking so she could focus on the game. Amy rolledher eyes in mock exasperation. She was plenty used to the Yahtzee God. Sometimes Lexie corralled Amy into playing against her, making Amy the Yahtzee God (or Yahtzee Devil, depending on who won).
    â€œOoooh,” Lexie hummed, when she got a Yahtzee. Unless she blew it—going for a second Yahtzee instead of taking the small straight before her—she was sure to get at least 250.
    â€œWell?” Amy nodded toward the phone that Lexie was shoving back into her purse. “What did Our Father who art in Yahtzee say?”
    â€œRoll with the crush, go to Frito Friday.”
    â€œYou are what my mama would call Hayseed. That’s Southern for shit-all crazy.”
    â€œYou know what’s funny?” Lexie flipped to her side and pulled up her knees. She was in a dress and stockings, like Amy, only Lexie’s stockings were sheer and black. Her dress was black, too. Amy’s dress was mint green. Only a girl from Alabama would wear mint green with flesh-colored hose. “My parents, who were completely nutzo, never ever questioned anything they did on the grounds that it might be crazy.”
    â€œWell, usually it’s too hard to see crazy when you’re right in the middle of it.”
    â€œWait. What if Daniel kisses me?” Lexie lifted her head, a half-sit-up.
    â€œHe’ll only kiss you if you give him the signal to kiss you. Don’t give the signal.”
    â€œWhat’s the signal?” Lexie rested her head on her bent arm.
    â€œI