a voice sings, the words slurred. I groan and roll over, placing a pillow over my head. “You can’t hide from me.” Laughter pierces my makeshift earplug. “Hey, that rhymes. I’m a poet and I didn’t even know it.” My bedroom’s wooden door slams against the metal doorstop. Flesh smacks drywall once, twice, three times. I sit upright and glare at the intruder. Light blinds me and I slap my hands over my eyes. “There you are,” Cyndi calls out. “You’re drunk.” I remove my hands. My inebriated friend stumbles toward me, a goofy grin plastered across her beautiful face. “And what the hell are you wearing?” She’s dressed in green plaid boxer shorts and a loose white tank top that barely contains her humongous breasts. “Awww . . . don’t be mad at me, Bee.” Cyndi throws herself on top of me, smacking her forehead against my collarbone. “I love you.” She attempts to hug me, her arms tangling in the sheets. “You’re my bestest friend in the whole wide world.”
