American Chordata: Magazine of New Writing Issue One, Spring 2015 | Page 123

105
FICTION

“No matter what, you’ll always be the most beautiful girl I’ve
ever seen.”
He told me to lie down. He removed my pants, then my underwear. He kissed my hipbones, then he kissed me between my legs.
I thought of Therese. Therese, with a horde of boys following her
through the halls. Therese in a bikini in a picture on HotRank with
a thousand votes. Therese giving Jack and me the mean side-eye
when we walked through the halls holding hands. Jack’s flushed
look of embarrassment. I sat up, drew my legs together. “It’s okay,”
I said.
“I wanted to make you feel good,” Jack said.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “You did.”
Jack came and lay beside me and rested his head on my shoulder. He fell asleep within minutes, tired from playing soccer all day.
As I stared up at the ceiling, I thought about college, about how,
when I left this place, I could shop at whatever hip boutiques I
wanted, not just at the mall. How someday I would get the most
amazing haircut. My braces would come off, my skin would clear.
I’d meet a guy, and he’d tell me I was really hot. But now that my
jaw was weird I didn’t know if it would be possible.
I lifted myself from Jack’s arms and went into the family room.
On the bookshelf was a stack of board games—Whoops! and Peril—
games I always lost to the Larkins, who were good at math and
logic. I walked upstairs. In the kitchen, Mrs. Larkin was standing
by the window with a cup of tea, looking out on the yard.
“Can’t sleep?” she said. “Me neither.”
I sat at the kitchen island in the center of the room. There was
a dirty cutting board left out from dinner—some onion skins, and
the lid of a red pepper. A venus flytrap sat in a small pot in the
middle of the counter, its mouth oozing white goo over whatever
it had caught.
“I should go home,” I said. “My mother doesn’t know I’m here.”
Mrs. Larkin looked at me, and I saw her understand.
“I’ll drive you,” she said. “I don’t mind.”
We walked onto the porch. Above us, friendly stars twinkled.
“They’re putting in more over there,” Mrs. Larkin said, pointing to