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Cherie’s question
is laced with concern.
I must look ready to pass
out or die or something.
And maybe I am.
“Yes … No. Uh-uh-
uh …” Great. Let’s
add stuttering to my list.
“I don’t know. I mean …”
I’d be mad too.
Tiffany is a total
slut. Almost every guy
here has gone all the way
around the world with her!
Okay, it’s a slight
exaggeration, but
I’m in no mood to
disagree. “It doesn’t
matter. Not like I own him.”
The truth of that
stings. My eyes tear
up, and I wish Cherie
would just go away, let me
wallow alone in my misery pit.
As if reading,
my mind, she says,
There’s Billy. I need to
ask him something. I’ll be
back in a few minutes, okay?
“I’m fine, Cherie.
