Denton Little's Deathdate

Denton Little's Deathdate by Lance Rubin Page A

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Authors: Lance Rubin
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amazing me-collage on top of it. It’s still preferable to cremation, though. Body burned into nothingness? No thanks!
    â€œThanks, Pow.”
    â€œOn to more important things: you and Taryn get nasty again?”
    â€œWe…did.” Unlike Paolo, who’s pretty graphic in describing his sexual adventures, I’m not much of a kiss-and-teller. It makes me uncomfortable, like I’m exposing my most vulnerable self in casual conversation. Not to mention that Veronica could be overhearing everything we’re saying. I should at least throw Paolo something. “And it was good.”
    â€œJust good?”
    â€œIt was great, okay? But then…”
    I tell Paolo about the splotch that was on Taryn, how freaked she was, and how—with an awkward kiss and a “See you at my Sitting”—I had to leave her mid-freak-out to come here.
    â€œHoly crap, dude, that sucks.”
    â€œI know.”
    â€œShe really did STD you!”
    â€œOr maybe I gave something to her.” I sigh. I walk to the fridge, all nervous energy, and take inventory, hoping for some kind of cranberry juice.
    â€œNo, man, I mean—just finished the cran-apple thismorning, sorry, hombre—maybe she gave it to you yesterday!”
    â€œRight. Look…Taryn and I didn’t sleep together yesterday.”
    â€œYou didn’t?”
    â€œWe didn’t.”
    â€œDid you have sex today?”
    â€œWe did.”
    â€œBut not yesterday.”
    â€œNot yesterday.”
    Paolo has plopped down at the kitchen table, thinking really hard about all this.
    â€œYou said you had sex yesterday, though.”
    â€œWell…I did have sex yesterday.”
    Paolo is thoughtful, then astounded. “Dude…” He is speaking very quietly. “Are you telling me you got yourself a prostitute?” He mouths the word
prostitute
.
    â€œNo! What? No!”
    â€œYou said you had sex that wasn’t with Taryn, so I don’t know!”
    â€œOkay, okay, look, I wasn’t gonna tell you this, but I had sex with…” I shake my head toward the kitchen door twice.
    â€œWhy are you jerking your head around like that? I can’t understand what you’re saying.”
    â€œNo, look at me, I had sex with…” And I again give my head two violent shakes toward the living room as I simultaneously point with my finger.
    â€œNo…,” Paolo mutters.
    I shrug.
    â€œYou did it with my mom?” Paolo whispers.
    I’m about to violently disagree when the door opens and Paolo’s mom walks in.
    â€œSorry to interrupt again. Left some work stuff in here.”
    Paolo is completely still as she rifles through a stack of papers near the phone. “Oh,” he says. “Cool. Yeah.”
    He stares at me with a mixture of discomfort, disgust, and awe.
    â€œGot it,” Paolo’s mom says, holding a notebook. “So serious in here.”
    She walks out.
    â€œWow,” Paolo says, shaking his head in wonder. “You could cut that sexual tension with a knife! Can’t believe I never noticed it. I mean, it makes sense in a way. I could see myself doing it with your mom if she weren’t married.”
    â€œWhoa, whoa, stop, stop. Ew, man.”
    â€œOh, so you can do it with my mom”—Paolo realizes how loud he’s being and reins it in—“but when I even
mention
returning the favor with yours, you get all squirmish.”
    â€œ
Squirmish
is not a word, and I absolutely did NOT do it with your mom. Geez, dude, give me some credit here.”
    Question marks hover over Paolo’s head. “You didn’t do it with my mom?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œOh, so what was all the—” Paolo stops short, looking as if he’s just seen someone rub feces on his bike. “Veronica.”
    I grimace.
    â€œMy pure sister, Veronica…”
    â€œI’m sorry, dude.”
    â€œTainted. By

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