again that my reputation leaves something to be desired.
PIZZA DAY
Patrick Cushman looks kind of surprised when I sit down next to him at his lunch table. He’s sitting there eating a sandwich with a group of people from band.
“Happy pizza day,” I say.
A guy stops polishing his oboe. They all look at me in shock.
“You’re kind of hard to find,” I say to Patrick, pressing a napkin on the molten piece of greasy cheese pizza to try to absorb whatever liquid is sitting on top.
“Why’s that?” he asks, watching me with amusement.
“You never sit at the same table.”
“I like to mix it up,” he says, nonchalant.
“Smart move,” I say. A freckly girl from my gym class nods at me. “Hey, Laura,” I volunteer as I wad up the greasy napkin and put it in the corner of my tray.
Then I turn back to Patrick. “So, do you really make this pizza at home?” I cut a tiny piece off with my knife and put it in my mouth. It’s like somewhat digestible wet rubber sitting on top of somewhat digestible dry rubber. I manage to chew. It’s not easy.
“Of course not,” he says, trying not to laugh as he watches me swallow. “I can’t believe you just allowed that to enter your body.”
I immediately regret consuming it. “It’s probably going to live in my intestines for twenty years, isn’t it?”
“Fifty,” he says. “Here. Try this. It’s much better. I make a mean sandwich.” He hands me half of a turkey sandwich on whole wheat bread. It’s got some sort of sprouts and tomato on it.
“I thought you were into pizza.”
“I told you—I like to mix it up.”
I appraise the turkey sandwich. “Is it good?”
“Just trust me,” he says, and smiles at me. I bite into it and chew. It’s delicious.
Birthday Present
I’m up in my room
hating trigonometry more than life itself
when Jenna knocks on my door and says,
Someone’s here to see you
.
I go downstairs
and standing there on my front porch
is Marc Truax.
He’s wearing a black Nirvana T-shirt
and scuffed Vans
and I am literally speechless
so it’s a good thing he is able to speak.
Happy birthday
, he says,
followed by,
Do you want to go for a walk?
And I nod yes
and Jenna tries to act like
she’s not full-on eavesdropping,
but I’m so happy I don’t even care.
Turning Sixteen
Marc says there’s a rad doughnut place
that we could go to.
I’m not really sure what the big deal about doughnuts is,
but it doesn’t matter
because before I know it,
we’re walking
near the Burnside Bridge
and talking
and I’m nervous being around him
but only for about five minutes
and pretty soon
we’re talking about everything;
I tell him about my old school
and my mom
and he talks about motorcycles from the seventies,
which of course I know nothing about,
and finally we get to this really awesome bakery
called Voodoo
and they’re playing cool music
and the girl behind the counter
is all pierced and friendly
and Marc asks for one doughnut dusted with Tang
and another one topped with Cap’n Crunch
and I get chocolate on chocolate,
but before we eat them,
he says,
Hang on,
and buys me a pair of underwear
with the Voodoo logo and a slogan
that says THE MAGIC IS IN THE HOLE .
I blush, since no guy has ever bought me underwear before.
Then he pulls a candle out of his pocket
that looks a little bit used
and he goes,
Sorry, it was the only one I could find.
I had to mug somebody for it.
He grins and lights it
and he and the girl behind the counter
sing “Happy Birthday” really loud.
I make my wish,
which is you-know-what.
And we sit there devouring doughnuts
and when we’re done
he buys me a bunch more to take home
and says that if I’m celebrating my birthday properly,
I have to have enough to last a whole week,
because you can’t just turn sixteen once
and call it a day.
Doughnuts
What’s this?
my dad asks when he sees the pink box on the counter
that says GOOD THINGS COME
PIZZA DAY
Patrick Cushman looks kind of surprised when I sit down next to him at his lunch table. He’s sitting there eating a sandwich with a group of people from band.
“Happy pizza day,” I say.
A guy stops polishing his oboe. They all look at me in shock.
“You’re kind of hard to find,” I say to Patrick, pressing a napkin on the molten piece of greasy cheese pizza to try to absorb whatever liquid is sitting on top.
“Why’s that?” he asks, watching me with amusement.
“You never sit at the same table.”
“I like to mix it up,” he says, nonchalant.
“Smart move,” I say. A freckly girl from my gym class nods at me. “Hey, Laura,” I volunteer as I wad up the greasy napkin and put it in the corner of my tray.
Then I turn back to Patrick. “So, do you really make this pizza at home?” I cut a tiny piece off with my knife and put it in my mouth. It’s like somewhat digestible wet rubber sitting on top of somewhat digestible dry rubber. I manage to chew. It’s not easy.
“Of course not,” he says, trying not to laugh as he watches me swallow. “I can’t believe you just allowed that to enter your body.”
I immediately regret consuming it. “It’s probably going to live in my intestines for twenty years, isn’t it?”
“Fifty,” he says. “Here. Try this. It’s much better. I make a mean sandwich.” He hands me half of a turkey sandwich on whole wheat bread. It’s got some sort of sprouts and tomato on it.
“I thought you were into pizza.”
“I told you—I like to mix it up.”
I appraise the turkey sandwich. “Is it good?”
“Just trust me,” he says, and smiles at me. I bite into it and chew. It’s delicious.
Birthday Present
I’m up in my room
hating trigonometry more than life itself
when Jenna knocks on my door and says,
Someone’s here to see you
.
I go downstairs
and standing there on my front porch
is Marc Truax.
He’s wearing a black Nirvana T-shirt
and scuffed Vans
and I am literally speechless
so it’s a good thing he is able to speak.
Happy birthday
, he says,
followed by,
Do you want to go for a walk?
And I nod yes
and Jenna tries to act like
she’s not full-on eavesdropping,
but I’m so happy I don’t even care.
Turning Sixteen
Marc says there’s a rad doughnut place
that we could go to.
I’m not really sure what the big deal about doughnuts is,
but it doesn’t matter
because before I know it,
we’re walking
near the Burnside Bridge
and talking
and I’m nervous being around him
but only for about five minutes
and pretty soon
we’re talking about everything;
I tell him about my old school
and my mom
and he talks about motorcycles from the seventies,
which of course I know nothing about,
and finally we get to this really awesome bakery
called Voodoo
and they’re playing cool music
and the girl behind the counter
is all pierced and friendly
and Marc asks for one doughnut dusted with Tang
and another one topped with Cap’n Crunch
and I get chocolate on chocolate,
but before we eat them,
he says,
Hang on,
and buys me a pair of underwear
with the Voodoo logo and a slogan
that says THE MAGIC IS IN THE HOLE .
I blush, since no guy has ever bought me underwear before.
Then he pulls a candle out of his pocket
that looks a little bit used
and he goes,
Sorry, it was the only one I could find.
I had to mug somebody for it.
He grins and lights it
and he and the girl behind the counter
sing “Happy Birthday” really loud.
I make my wish,
which is you-know-what.
And we sit there devouring doughnuts
and when we’re done
he buys me a bunch more to take home
and says that if I’m celebrating my birthday properly,
I have to have enough to last a whole week,
because you can’t just turn sixteen once
and call it a day.
Doughnuts
What’s this?
my dad asks when he sees the pink box on the counter
that says GOOD THINGS COME
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