traumatized.
“Where did
you
go?” I ask Elodie.
She looks embarrassed, then reaches to the seat next to her, pulling her overcoat onto the table.
“Here,” Elodie says, pulling a novel and a book of poems out of the pockets.
I pick up
The Collected Poems of Emily Dickinson
. “Didn’t Ms. Hoberman assign us some of her stuff a few months ago?”
Elodie nods. Then she pulls out a perfect little clutch. It’s chic and black, with a cute gold buckle. “I also went to Coach,” she says modestly.
“That’s, like, four hundred bucks!” I gasp. I can’t help it.
“I knew this girl was trouble,” Moe says, beaming.
“How’d you pull that off?” I ask.
She shrugs. “Perk of being a good girl. No one suspects you’ll do anything bad.”
As I stare at her, jaw dropped, Moe suddenly blurts out, “Oh, fuck.”
We turn to see what Moe’s staring at: a tall, pockmarked guy with wispy hair and a really creepy grimaceon his face. Even though he’s skinny, he’s muscular and strong-looking.
“It’s the blow-up doll guy!” Moe whispers.
“That’s him?” I’m actually kind of scared.
“Don’t look at him!” Moe hisses, and we whip back around.
“He tried to get me to go in the back of the store with him,” she says, looking freaked out. “He told me if I didn’t, he’d call the cops and tell them I was stealing.”
Elodie panics. “What?!”
“He’s coming over here!” Moe says. Elodie panics, grabbing my arm.
“Should we scream?” I’m actually worried I may lose my shit—
From Moe’s eyes, I can tell he’s about to appear right over my shoulder, and then suddenly she says, “Oh no.”
We gasp and spin around—only to see a little girl standing behind us.
Elodie deflates, trying to catch her breath. Moe keels over with laughter.
“You asshole!” I say. “He wasn’t coming over at all.”
Moe points. “Looks like he’s getting himself some pie.” The guy is sitting in a booth, placing an order with the waitress and looking pretty benign.
She starts laughing so hard, she drops half her sandwich on her lap.
“You’ve got Tarantuna on your pants,” Elodie says, pointing and giggling.
“So he didn’t really say that to you in the sex shop?” I can’t believe she would do that.
“Heck no,” she says. “I’ve never even seen that guy before.”
Elodie giggles even harder.
“And there was no blow-up doll,” Moe adds. “Well, it wasn’t inflated, anyway. But it was a pretty good story, right?”
I punch her in the arm, knocking over my milk shake and making a gross, disgusting mess, but I have to say that even though I wanted to kill her, I’m pretty sure I haven’t laughed that hard in six months.
Buried Treasure
Last week they had a story on the news
about a stolen sculpture
worth sixty million dollars
that the police found buried in a box
in the forest.
The thief had put it in the ground years earlier
for safekeeping
until finally he got so scared about being caught
he decided to turn himself in.
He led the authorities out into the woods
and watched
as they dug up his prize.
I relay this to Tabitha and Moe
as we walk down Stark Street, haul in hand,
and we agree
that maybe the thief felt proud
when they pulled the statue out;
he’d finally gotten to tell someone
what he’d accomplished,
he’d finally gotten to confess his crime
in all its glorious detail,
he’d finally realized that stealing in solitude
can drive you crazy,
the loneliness of a victory can overtake you
and maybe the only thing
that makes it worthwhile
is having someone to share it with.
APRIL 8
Aunt B says to not judge a book by the cover, but I guess everybody does. Elodie was surprised when I told her I’d already read
Broken Soup
. Tabitha said she hadn’t read it, so Elodie gave her the copy. Hanging out at the Roxy with them was more fun than listening to Alex lay out a plan to TP some nerd’s house, but it wasn’t like super buddy-buddy
“Where did
you
go?” I ask Elodie.
She looks embarrassed, then reaches to the seat next to her, pulling her overcoat onto the table.
“Here,” Elodie says, pulling a novel and a book of poems out of the pockets.
I pick up
The Collected Poems of Emily Dickinson
. “Didn’t Ms. Hoberman assign us some of her stuff a few months ago?”
Elodie nods. Then she pulls out a perfect little clutch. It’s chic and black, with a cute gold buckle. “I also went to Coach,” she says modestly.
“That’s, like, four hundred bucks!” I gasp. I can’t help it.
“I knew this girl was trouble,” Moe says, beaming.
“How’d you pull that off?” I ask.
She shrugs. “Perk of being a good girl. No one suspects you’ll do anything bad.”
As I stare at her, jaw dropped, Moe suddenly blurts out, “Oh, fuck.”
We turn to see what Moe’s staring at: a tall, pockmarked guy with wispy hair and a really creepy grimaceon his face. Even though he’s skinny, he’s muscular and strong-looking.
“It’s the blow-up doll guy!” Moe whispers.
“That’s him?” I’m actually kind of scared.
“Don’t look at him!” Moe hisses, and we whip back around.
“He tried to get me to go in the back of the store with him,” she says, looking freaked out. “He told me if I didn’t, he’d call the cops and tell them I was stealing.”
Elodie panics. “What?!”
“He’s coming over here!” Moe says. Elodie panics, grabbing my arm.
“Should we scream?” I’m actually worried I may lose my shit—
From Moe’s eyes, I can tell he’s about to appear right over my shoulder, and then suddenly she says, “Oh no.”
We gasp and spin around—only to see a little girl standing behind us.
Elodie deflates, trying to catch her breath. Moe keels over with laughter.
“You asshole!” I say. “He wasn’t coming over at all.”
Moe points. “Looks like he’s getting himself some pie.” The guy is sitting in a booth, placing an order with the waitress and looking pretty benign.
She starts laughing so hard, she drops half her sandwich on her lap.
“You’ve got Tarantuna on your pants,” Elodie says, pointing and giggling.
“So he didn’t really say that to you in the sex shop?” I can’t believe she would do that.
“Heck no,” she says. “I’ve never even seen that guy before.”
Elodie giggles even harder.
“And there was no blow-up doll,” Moe adds. “Well, it wasn’t inflated, anyway. But it was a pretty good story, right?”
I punch her in the arm, knocking over my milk shake and making a gross, disgusting mess, but I have to say that even though I wanted to kill her, I’m pretty sure I haven’t laughed that hard in six months.
Buried Treasure
Last week they had a story on the news
about a stolen sculpture
worth sixty million dollars
that the police found buried in a box
in the forest.
The thief had put it in the ground years earlier
for safekeeping
until finally he got so scared about being caught
he decided to turn himself in.
He led the authorities out into the woods
and watched
as they dug up his prize.
I relay this to Tabitha and Moe
as we walk down Stark Street, haul in hand,
and we agree
that maybe the thief felt proud
when they pulled the statue out;
he’d finally gotten to tell someone
what he’d accomplished,
he’d finally gotten to confess his crime
in all its glorious detail,
he’d finally realized that stealing in solitude
can drive you crazy,
the loneliness of a victory can overtake you
and maybe the only thing
that makes it worthwhile
is having someone to share it with.
APRIL 8
Aunt B says to not judge a book by the cover, but I guess everybody does. Elodie was surprised when I told her I’d already read
Broken Soup
. Tabitha said she hadn’t read it, so Elodie gave her the copy. Hanging out at the Roxy with them was more fun than listening to Alex lay out a plan to TP some nerd’s house, but it wasn’t like super buddy-buddy
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