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wrong with the ham?
he asks, drawing much
too much attention away
from Jake and toward us.
“Nope. It’s great,” I say.
“I just ate too much while
we were cooking.” The
explanation seems to work.
Heather chooses to flirt.
It’s delicious, she cons,
batting her thick lashes,
but I’m trying to lose
a few pounds. Sure, off
an already flawless figure.
Will someone please tell
her she’s crazy? pleads
Leigh. Then things get
really creepy, when she
turns to Heather. You’re
perfect, exactly as you are.
Mom and Scott roll
with it. And it sails
completely over Jake’s
head. Mouth stuffed
with cheesy potatoes,
he mumbles something
that sounds vaguely like
Perfect doesn’t cover it.
He’s in high school
already. How can he be
