Allen watched our heartwarming affection with disgust.
“You hungry, little buddy?” I cooed.
“I have some sandwich left,” Allen offered.
“Don’t give him that. It’s old. Might make him sick.”
Zonk abandoned happy time with Allen when he spotted the brown paper bag I’d filled up at the gas station.
“You know, dude,” Allen said, “if you didn’t feed him, he’d go find himself a nice hollow tree and already have a few thousand babies.”
“He goes out.”
“Right, like… for a beer. But then he comes back to watch “Charlie’s Angels” with you.”
“I don’t see the downside,” I replied, and truly, I didn’t. They say family is chosen. Well, mine had chewed through the sheetrock. And despite what Allen might think about our unconventional relationship, it hadn’t been love at first sight. I had tried to keep him out, but Zonk was small and scrappy, and every day I came home, he was in my apartment. So yeah. I gave up and started feeding him candy. Once he got his first bite, he found an old shoebox and never left.
I reached into the bag and pulled out a Red Vine.
Zonk went crazy. He had a sweet tooth, that one. I affectionately ruffled the coarse hair on his head.
“Say please,” I coaxed, figuring it was never too early to startcorrecting marsupial manners. Zonk smacked me. Noted. I handed him a licorice.
“So, I met an heiress at the gas station today,” I said. “Mistook me for a gas station attendant. Demanded I fill her tank.”
“Fill her tank, huh?” Allen glanced at Zonk, and I swear they exchanged a knowing wink.
“Would you two like a moment, or can I continue?”
Both took a bite, remaining silent.
I continued. “I think we sorta had something. Like, if I wasn’t a no-good surf bum with an opossum for a pet, she might actually be interested.”
Allen didn’t seem convinced. “I don’t know, McKallister. You’ve got the whole ‘after-school special’ thing pretty much nailed down.”
He was right. My life was not a place to drop an heiress and hope for the best. But Michelle was the ultimate prize, and no matter how hard life had pummeled me, I was still looking for a win.
“I invited her to the show tonight.”
Allen raised a brow. “She’s coming?”
“Well, no. Probably not,” I said, tossing him a spiral notebook. “But just in case she does, let’s give her a reason to stay.”
3
MICHELLE: GAG ME WITH A SPOON
“So, there we are, right?” Donald Lavelle the Third—Prince—leaned across our table, grinning like he thought his was the freshest voice in comedy. He tugged at the cuffs of his custom-tailored tuxedo before continuing. “Middle of the frat house basement, three in the morning. We’ve got Conrad bound in Saran Wrap. I'm talking head-to-toe, Michelle. Complete mummy situation.”
I blinked, horrified. “Could he breathe?”
Prince slapped the table. His laughter was obnoxious and unapologetic. “We cut nose holes. Anyway, it gets better. Dude’s still passed out. We drag him out to the quad, right? It’s like negative ten degrees outside. He wakes up and totally freaks—” Prince paused, clearly expecting applause.
I nodded politely, though I was already mentally drafting a list of the possible crimes.
“—we're upstairs, looking out the window, totally losing it. Funniest shit I’ve ever seen.”
I forced my lips into something smile-shaped. “I'm surprised Conrad didn't get hypothermia.”
