American Chordata: Magazine of New Writing Issue One, Spring 2015 | Page 130

112
FICTION

and tacked it to a corkboard next to a man named Walt, who also
had a crooked jaw.
“You’re famous,” my mother said. On the way home my mother
and I stopped at the grocery store. She handed me twenty dollars
and said I could get anything I wanted. While she went around the
store doing our regular shopping, I went in search of all the foods
I longed for: macaroni and cheese, pizza, hot dogs. I met my mother
in line with a full basket under my arm. As we waited, I looked to
my left and there she was, Therese, waiting in the express line holding a bottle of Flavo-water and a bag of corn chips. She was tan
from the summer, her hair big, bleachy and indomitable. She saw
me and squinted. I turned around, but I could still feel her staring,
staring at my new jaw, and my stomach turned as I thought of what
she’d say about me when school started in a month. I’d already
broken up with Jac