"That wasn't a very good movie."
She spat her gum out onto the sidewalk, and I stepped in it. I noticed again how perfectly she fit into her dress, and I shuddered, because my body'd never been carefully considered the way I considered hers. And that's what makes us feel lonely, isn't it? The fact that the people whose flesh we treasure above everything else have never even noticed the colour of our eyes. God damn.

In the taxi, she went on to explain just why exactly that movie hadn't been very good, and while she talked I imagined what I would do if I wasn't stuck inside myself all the time. I'd hit her square in the face. And then I'd kiss her, and then she'd love me. Or, I'd take her back to my room and get her drunk. Or, I'd get out of the cab at the next light and change my phone number.

The cab stopped at a red, and that rising feeling of rule-breaking began to expand in my chest, making my fingers itch. My vision went dizzy for a second, exactly like the second before I yell at my sister. But I sat still. Anyway, my phone number has a nice ring to it, 690 990 9906. Easy to remember.

Or, I'd hit myself in the face for all the stupid fucking things I've done, like telling Jean Fisch I had a crush on her in the seventh grade.

What happened was she stopped the taxi outside of Yogurt Park, and we got a large vanilla frozen yogurt with gummy bears on top. We shared it sitting on the bench outside her building, and when she got a brain freeze, we threw it away. Then she put another piece of gum in her mouth, which means Don't kiss me, and I hated her but told her I'd call her tomorrow.