Kristy says the next morning, out of nowhere (the kind of nowhere, in case you’re curious, where she’s been staring at me for the past ten minutes, all sly and sneaky and – bless her blonde, bouncy heart – super-friggin’-obvious), “someone was talking to me about you yesterday.” She waits, mighty pleased with herself. Like I’m immediately going to start falling all over myself, begging to know exactly who! this mysterious someone is and why! they were talking about me and what! it was they said. Real cute, Kris. Real tricky. Guess what? I’m not fallin’ for it. Anyway, it’s obvious she means Arthur. … Hey, she means Arthur. “Oh yeah?” I am so fucking casual in this moment. Not, like, desperate, or wild with curiosity, or anything like that. Some people might be eager to hear what gets said about them after they happen to kiss somebody by quasi-accident. Not me. I’m cool. I’m like thirty-two flippin’ degrees of cool. I’m freezing. Ice motherfuckin’ ice, baby.
