“I ride, I’m lookin’ like a fuckin’ turtle.
“Instant double chin.”
Celie's head tosses back with a soul-full laugh.
“Get the hell outta here, no you don’t.”
She gives me a squinty side-eye.
“The fuck makes you think that?”
I stay quiet
long enough to put ideas into her head.
“Yo—you deadass took a selfie, didn’t you?”
Itsk. “Please. Like you haven’t.”
Her face twists up, horrified.
“Nooo, Allie. No one normal does that.”
“Yeah, well, they should,” I argue.
“Just lay your phone flat on the bed.
“Hover.
“Look down.
“And—click.”
I tap my chin.
“Instant fuckin’ turtle.
“And I would've never known.”
She snaps her fingers.
“Lemme see. Hand it over.”
I scroll my phone, grateful?—
pathetically grateful?—
for this.
For sixty blessed seconds,
I don’t think about Andrew.
About the way he looked at me like I was his whole goddamn skyline, and then walked away without a second glance.
But the question’s crawled inside, bloody knees and all, and has been gnawing the inside of my skull all morning.
“Should I text him?” I ask,
