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by a substance resembling dried
nail polish; despite the drama
I’ve jump-started, then left in my
exhaust, I am sent to school.
While I wait for Matt, people take
one look, swing wide around me,
as if the condition of my face
might be contagious or something.
I seriously need a major dose
of Matt. Need to feel cared for.
Loved. So far, though, no Matt.
But here comes Kyle. Solo.
Odd. He and Matt always ride
together. He notices me, and
even from here I can see his face
light up. But when he pushes
near, he pales. Oh my God.
What happened to you?
I launch a condensed version
of the lurid story, and as I talk,
he reaches out, gently traces
the contour of the wound.
The move is unexpected.
Uncharacteristic. Unbelievab
ly
tender. No one has ever touched
me quite this way. I look up
into his eyes, find invitation.
That isn’t new. But this feels
different. My own hand lifts,
