Fallout (Crank 3)

I suck in oxygen, concentrate

on a mental picture of Bryce so

Micah’s cool steel eyes don’t

pierce so hard. I can do this.

Okay, everyone, says the pastor.

Let’s get this over with. I’m hungry.

A half hour later, we’re all pretty

sure of our roles for tomorrow.

Through the entire instruction,

Micah managed to either be

very close to me or to let

me know most definitely that

he was watching me. If I didn’t

know better, I’d say he was hitting

on me. Impossible. No makeup.

BUT, MAKEUP OR NO

Micah finds a way to sit next to me

at dinner. His leg rests against mine,

and despite willing myself to think Bryce,

Bryce, Bryce, I don’t push it away.

I like how it feels. Warm. Protective.

Still, just to be fair, when the conversation

around us is loud enough to cover it,

I say, “I have a boyfriend, you know.”

Micah keeps chewing his chicken

Marsala. Finally he swallows. I would

have been surprised if you didn’t.

God, he is just so smooth.

Bryce would never say something

like that. My face flushes. At least