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Plus, he’s not bad-looking
for a guy in his late forties.
And I’ve yet to
hear him scream.
DARLA IS A DIFFERENT STORY
Here it comes, directed at me.
Summer! Is your homework finished?
Hours ago, but I call, “Almost.”
Well, hurry it up, for God’s sake.
Like God needs to be involved. “Okay.”
I need some help with dinner.
Three other girls live here too.
And turn down that stupid music.
The music belongs to one of them.
I can barely hear myself think.
She thinks? “It’s Erica’s music.”
Well, tell her to turn it down, please.
Whatever. At least she said please.
And would you please stop yelling?
GAWD!
My neck flares, collarbone
to earlobes. Like Erica
couldn’t hear her scream?
I fling myself off the bed,
cross my room and the hall
just beyond in mere seconds.
“Erica!” (Shit, I am yelling.)
“Can’t you …?” But when
I push through the door,
the music on the other side
