You turn to see if he’s watching, if he’s afraid that you’ll leave, but can’t tell either way. Your jeans held your ass differently on hormones. You wonder if he can tell the difference.

Cheeks wet with tears, I croak—Jessica, you are the biggest fucking cunt in Somerville.
She giggles like a female alien, inhales serenely, and says Thank you.

Like the rest of the human race, I harbor post-apocalyptic fantasies (naturally, I’d be one of the survivors, along with a few loved ones). I wouldn’t mind joining the new human society that comes together at the end of Margaret Atwood’s MaddAddam trilogy ^…

She grins to herself, then, since they friended
each other at some point during that night,
she opens messenger and starts to write
a message: “Hi. It’s been a while
but I’d still like to be your friend.”