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Dear Zac,
Screw you.
That twenty-dollar theft haunted me for the best part of sixth grade! I thought the police were going to show up at my house at any moment and send me to kid jail.
I’m like 99 percent sure I’m going to regret this, but you got me intrigued with all this talk of “crazier stories”, so I’m going to take you up on your offer. My crazy story in exchange for yours.
Game on.
I accidentally put on a sex tape while babysitting a little girl when I was fourteen. The family wasn’t much into technology and only had a VCR player with one Disney movie in VHS. The cassette stopped working right at the beginning of my shift and the kid threw such a massive tantrum, I panicked and searched EVERYWHERE for another movie.
Almost shed tears of joy when I found the Little Mermaid.
Except it was really called the Little “Spermaid.”
And the characters were her parents.
Thank God I stopped it before she saw anything
(I still see the dad’s hairy butt every time I close my eyes.)
Does that earn me one of the good stories?
Tell you what, make the next one REALLY good, and I’ll tell you my name. (Fake, obviously. Wouldn’t want you to find out who I am…)
- L
* * *
Dear L,
Not bad. I’d even go as far as to say your story was decent. Yes, I just gave you a compliment. No, I’m not on drugs. Looks like I owe you a confession, doesn’t it?
I desperately needed a car after I crashed mine a year back (don’t ask), so I grabbed a batch of brownies my mom’d just made and sold them at my best friend’s birthday party for $30 a pop. No one ever asked if there was weed in them. They just assumed there was.
Hint: there wasn’t.
Bottom line, I made $1,000 in a half hour.
Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think that earns me your name—your fake name, but still. Not that I’d ever try to figure out who you are. (Can you imagine the fucking horror of realizing we know each other?)
Your move, angry girl.
- Zac
* * *
Dear Zac,
I can’t wait to tell you what “L” means just so you stop calling me that god-awful nickname. How many times am I going to have to tell you? I am NOT an angry girl.
If anything, you should call me “quiet girl” or “passive-aggressive girl.” Better yet, “you’ll never even know I’m mad girl.” You got it right the first time.
When life sucks, I don’t say a word and take it… Wait, that didn’t come off nearly as flattering as I thought it would.
Ahem, let’s just get straight into the story, shall we?
Sometimes, I’ll purposefully hide my best friend’s phone when I’m over at her house (like put it in my bag or under her mattress) so that she can’t get invited to places and disrupt our plans for the night. It’s not that I don’t want her to have a social life, it’s just we were perfectly fine hanging out the two of us before, and now she’s all about parties and boys.
