The End of FUN by Sean McGinty

wouldn’t miss the entire day, and as I was walking down the street I saw some people cleaning up after a yard sale. Something told me I should stop to see what was left, and that’s when I found the book.”
    â€œHuh. What’s it about?”
    â€œInevitability.”
    â€œBut I mean, what’s the story?”
    â€œWell, from the cover you’re led to believe it’s going to be all about kicking ass, but what it really turns out to be about is how incredibly harrowing this woman’s life is. Every time she comes upon a new, mist-covered planet you’re like,
No! Don’t go down there!
And yet, that’s what she does. That’s what she was born to do. She’s a Space Amazon.”
    â€œWhat’s that she’s wearing on the cover?”
    â€œI don’t know. A bikinotard?”
    â€œI bet she gets cold in space.”
    â€œIt’s strange,” said Katie. “Reading that book made me think about my own life. I’m not a fatalist, but I
have
noticed certain patterns in my experiences. It’s like, wherever I go, there I am. I can’t seem to get away from myself. And no matter how careful I am, no matter how much I plan, I always seem to end up in these very, um,
complicated
situations.”
    â€œLike what?”
    Katie sipped her drink. “Like now.”
    â€œWhat’s complicated about now?”
    Two blue eyes watching me over the rim of her glass.
    â€œNot just
now-right-now
,” she said. “I mean the
bigger
now. Which also includes the
what-just-happened
and
what-might-happen-next
. Sometimes the last
what-just-happened
ends up, you know,
complicating
the options of the
now
-
right
-
now
—because of
what-might-happen-next
.”
    â€œYou’re losing me a little.”
    â€œThere was a guy.”
    â€œOh. The bartender?”
    â€œYeah, him too,” she said. “And I didn’t even like him—but it’s
complicated
.”
    I had no idea what she was talking about. But as our gazes lingered, a little bolt of electricity passed between us, and I could tell she felt it, too—I just could—because it was real. I mean
real
electricity. I hadn’t felt something like that since Shannon Boyster gave me a chocolate bar at recess in first grade. But as soon as Katie saw that
I
saw, she sort of jumped back and clapped her hands.
    â€œTime for Hula-Hooping.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI’m going to teach you to Hula-Hoop. Remember?”
    We cleared a little stage in the middle of her living room, and she handed me the hoop.
    â€œLet’s see what you got.”
    â€œI got nothing.”
    â€œSo let’s see it.”
    I twisted my arms and gave the hoop a swing, which completed 1.5 rotations before falling to the floor.
    â€œWell, you have to at least
try
.”
    â€œI
am
trying. Look.”
    My body would not cooperate. My torso went one way, my ass another, while my hips struggled to maintain some equilibrium between the two. I dry-humped the air frantically. The hoop rattled to the floor.
    â€œClearly this thing is defective.”
    â€œYou see?” said Katie. “
This
is what happens when you spend too much time having FUN ® . You forget how your body works. Use your core. Imagine you’re a salsa dancer.”
    I tried again and failed again.
    â€œWatch me. Maybe that will help.”
    But no, that wasn’t going to help. Katie was too good. It was like trying to learn how to ride a bicycle by watching a motocross race. I mean this woman was a
pro
. She barely moved at all, just this slight swaying of the hips. Then, with a subtle motion that tingled my groin, she sent the hoop orbiting up over her breasts, to her neck, then slipped her arm up under it and caught it in her hand.
    â€œHere. Try again.”
    Pretty much I’ll try anything once, and probably twice, and probably a couple times after that—but inevitably there comes a