“Hi honey!” Tobias throws me into a hug with him and my boobs smooch against his flat body. I feel his adolescent breath on my neck and hair.
“Hey sexy college girl.” he playfully pinches my buttcheek as we pull away and I notice his new haircut. He grabs me again and this time doesn’t want to let go. Silly boy.
“So you missed me then?” he nods like a little child, “What did you do to your hair?” he smoothes it charmingly and asks if I like it. It is okay but I liked his long shaggy hair. I smile at Jacob behind him. He and Toby smell like two boys that have been playing with daddy’s cologne again, but the smell is good and almost attractive. We all do the little shit chit chat crap and I walk with them towards the Junior- Senior hallway once the bell bongs. I ask about plans for that evening. Suddenly Toby jumps from my view to greet and flirt with a new crush. Jacob rolls his eyes.
“How are you and Nichole doin’? She comes down often?” I ask gently.
“She is down here for today- You should go to see her.” he says quietly, flashing me a half smile and grabs his books from his small locker and is on his way to class after a strong baby hug with me.



“Sybil!” I hear this in the middle of a paragraph on page 113 of Prozac Nation, a book that would have suited me well in high school. He knows I am reading but he forgets that when he needs attention paid to him as he kills the evil Empire. He needs to go to a Star Wars support group.
“Jason!?” I throw the invisible tennis ball back at him in another vocal match.
“Jason!?” More minutes pass after this and I start to get back into my book.
“Where are you?” The voice is nearer so I look up to see a bare chested boyfriend pout at me,” What are you doing?”
“Smartass.” He does a funny pose and then flashes me his cute white butt. Before long Prozac Nation is depressed all alone on the floor and he is typewriting on my weak stomach and wiggling his face into the crack of my neck that, when breathed upon, tickles horribly and somehow produces a witch-like cackle out of my mouth. He loves that coarse laughter and jumps off with task completed. He has unraveled me.
“Are you just gonna read then?” I nod.
He walks back unfazed and I return to my intellectual snack.
This insaneness will occur in another fifteen minutes when he gets killed.




"Hello Mister," she squeaks out to her psycho cat as she pushes into the apt., "It's MOM!" He doesn't even meow. I don't think psycho cats do. I look up from my book (one of many to read for classes this semester) and she chucks her shoes and jacket off, "What's happenin'?"

I laugh, "Wanna go to the Turf?" Before shooting me the I-don't-have-money look, she scans the mail and computes what I have just said. No mail for her, which somehow makes her feel insignificant. Junk mail makes me angry and feel too important.

"Yea, I needs a beer. Bob is such an ass...," and she lays into another random Sunmart story. I cherish them and wish she'd just freaking write them all down because we'd make money off those insane stories of the mundane. Yup. Someone has got to capture all those words and venting frustrations of hers in a jar. Sell it and call it PISSED OFF.

As we both get ready, she concerns herself with her stomach appearing too large and I worry about my chest and ass. There is not much we can do about it, we decide and head out to drink. Alisa finishes off the worries with: "If they don't want to see a beer gut, they don't have to look at it." I nod.