the theme for the upcoming dance. Fliers warning about the evils of drunk driving were taped on every wall. Dr. Bailey nearly had a stroke when he saw that someone had drawn swastikas on the foreheads of the models in a photographer’s ad. I was walking Melody out to the bus after school. “Hey, Melody? How many mosquitoes does it take to screw in a lightbulb?” She smiled. “How many?” “Only two. The question is, how did they get in there?” “I don’t get it.” “It’ll come to you.” Since that day in the barn, I’d given up all pretense that Melody wasn’t my girlfriend. I held her hand when we talked. I kissed her after school. I even let Buttercup take our picture, my arm draped around Melody’s shoulders. And we were going to the spring dance together. I braced myself for the fallout. I was ready for the snide comments, the mocking laughter, the jokes about my ugly girlfriend. But the thing was they never materialized. Maybe it all happened when my back was turned, but all my clever rebuttals and insults didn’t do me any good.
What do You think about Playing With Matches (2008)?
