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Authors: Flynn Meaney
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about it,” Eugene says in a dramatic, croaky voice. “It was for the good of the team.”
Josh leans in toward Eugene.
“Hey, uh… Eugene?” Josh says in a low voice. “You’re not gonna, like…”
“Die?” I suggest loudly, spitting a few pieces of Cracker Jack out of my mouth.
“… sue me,” Josh finishes. “You’re not gonna sue me, right? Because last month I smashed my dad’s car, and I’m still paying off—”
“Hey, hey,” Eugene interrupts. “We’re teammates. We’re, like, brothers.”
“Italian silk,” Josh says, smiling.
“Italian silk,” Eugene agrees. Then he crosses his left hand over his body and extends his fist toward Josh. They fist-bump. Apparently, Eugene can fist-bump adequately. It’s just the chest bump he can’t handle.
Just as Josh leaves, Bobbi wobbles toward us in her dumb high-heeled shoes. It probably took her twenty minutes to climb down from the bleachers and get across this grass.
“How is he?” she asks me first, gripping my arm like we’re outside an operating room together or something.
“Uh…” I’m confused, so I just gesture to Eugene. “He’s… right there.”
When the paramedic steps away from his side, Bobbi approaches Eugene.
“Does it hurt
so bad
?” she asks, with huge eyes.
“I’m toughing it out,” Eugene replies. The croaky voice is back now.
“Do you have to go to the hospital?” Bobbi asks, looking at the ambulance, which has its back doors open.
“The emergency room,” Eugene says.
I think Bobbi is actually about to cry.
Holy shit. Maybe she actually
likes
him.
“Can I come with you in the ambulance?” Bobbi asks. She takes his hand.
“I don’t want you to see me like this,” Eugene tells her.
“Do you think you’ll make it to the party at Pam’s house later?” Bobbi asks.
“I might be in a cast,” Eugene warns her. “But I think I’ll make it.”
“I’ll be waiting there for you,” Bobbi says. “Text me?”
“I will,” Eugene says.
Then something happens that’s even more mind-blowing than a touchdown by our crappy football team. Bobbi kisses Eugene. And it’s not a one-second “bye” kind of kiss, either. This kiss lasts a solid five seconds.
Then the paramedics roll the stretcher away and load Eugene into the back of the ambulance. Halftime is over, so the players are back on the field. As for me, I just stand there shaking my head, eating Cracker Jack, and thinking,
Well done, little gingerbread boy.
CHAPTER 10: KELLY
“Is She Really Going Out with Him? What Julius Hotties See in Grimy Guys”
“The Boy Recession©” by Aviva Roth,
The Julius Journal
, October
F ive dollars,” Amy Schiffer tells us at the barn door.
“We have to pay five dollars to hang out in someone’s barn with a bunch of pig shit?” Darcy asks, crossing her arms over her blazer.
“It’s
organic
pig shit,” Amy informs her.
This is homecoming in Wisconsin. Whitefish Bay is definitely suburban—it’s just north of Milwaukee—but, for some reason, whenever homecoming rolls around, we end up on the semirural outskirts of town, like all those stereotypes of the Midwest. In a good year, the party is at someone’s lake house. In the worst years, everyone drinks in a field or the woods. I guess this year is in between—we’re at the two-story barn in back of Pam’s family’s organic farm. They have a lot of property on the edge oftown, and to get back here we had to walk through yards and yards of mud in our new boots.
Plus, it’s freezing. I can see my breath, and Aviva is looking down her shirt, checking for goose bumps in her cleavage. Aviva pushes in front of Darcy, unzips her wallet, and asks Amy, “Do you take credit cards?”
“Seriously?” Amy says, zipping her bomber jacket up to her neck. So I take ten dollars out of my purse and hand it to Amy. The money was from my mom, who thinks that I was going to Applebee’s before spending the night at Aviva’s house.
“Here.
Josh leans in toward Eugene.
“Hey, uh… Eugene?” Josh says in a low voice. “You’re not gonna, like…”
“Die?” I suggest loudly, spitting a few pieces of Cracker Jack out of my mouth.
“… sue me,” Josh finishes. “You’re not gonna sue me, right? Because last month I smashed my dad’s car, and I’m still paying off—”
“Hey, hey,” Eugene interrupts. “We’re teammates. We’re, like, brothers.”
“Italian silk,” Josh says, smiling.
“Italian silk,” Eugene agrees. Then he crosses his left hand over his body and extends his fist toward Josh. They fist-bump. Apparently, Eugene can fist-bump adequately. It’s just the chest bump he can’t handle.
Just as Josh leaves, Bobbi wobbles toward us in her dumb high-heeled shoes. It probably took her twenty minutes to climb down from the bleachers and get across this grass.
“How is he?” she asks me first, gripping my arm like we’re outside an operating room together or something.
“Uh…” I’m confused, so I just gesture to Eugene. “He’s… right there.”
When the paramedic steps away from his side, Bobbi approaches Eugene.
“Does it hurt
so bad
?” she asks, with huge eyes.
“I’m toughing it out,” Eugene replies. The croaky voice is back now.
“Do you have to go to the hospital?” Bobbi asks, looking at the ambulance, which has its back doors open.
“The emergency room,” Eugene says.
I think Bobbi is actually about to cry.
Holy shit. Maybe she actually
likes
him.
“Can I come with you in the ambulance?” Bobbi asks. She takes his hand.
“I don’t want you to see me like this,” Eugene tells her.
“Do you think you’ll make it to the party at Pam’s house later?” Bobbi asks.
“I might be in a cast,” Eugene warns her. “But I think I’ll make it.”
“I’ll be waiting there for you,” Bobbi says. “Text me?”
“I will,” Eugene says.
Then something happens that’s even more mind-blowing than a touchdown by our crappy football team. Bobbi kisses Eugene. And it’s not a one-second “bye” kind of kiss, either. This kiss lasts a solid five seconds.
Then the paramedics roll the stretcher away and load Eugene into the back of the ambulance. Halftime is over, so the players are back on the field. As for me, I just stand there shaking my head, eating Cracker Jack, and thinking,
Well done, little gingerbread boy.
CHAPTER 10: KELLY
“Is She Really Going Out with Him? What Julius Hotties See in Grimy Guys”
“The Boy Recession©” by Aviva Roth,
The Julius Journal
, October
F ive dollars,” Amy Schiffer tells us at the barn door.
“We have to pay five dollars to hang out in someone’s barn with a bunch of pig shit?” Darcy asks, crossing her arms over her blazer.
“It’s
organic
pig shit,” Amy informs her.
This is homecoming in Wisconsin. Whitefish Bay is definitely suburban—it’s just north of Milwaukee—but, for some reason, whenever homecoming rolls around, we end up on the semirural outskirts of town, like all those stereotypes of the Midwest. In a good year, the party is at someone’s lake house. In the worst years, everyone drinks in a field or the woods. I guess this year is in between—we’re at the two-story barn in back of Pam’s family’s organic farm. They have a lot of property on the edge oftown, and to get back here we had to walk through yards and yards of mud in our new boots.
Plus, it’s freezing. I can see my breath, and Aviva is looking down her shirt, checking for goose bumps in her cleavage. Aviva pushes in front of Darcy, unzips her wallet, and asks Amy, “Do you take credit cards?”
“Seriously?” Amy says, zipping her bomber jacket up to her neck. So I take ten dollars out of my purse and hand it to Amy. The money was from my mom, who thinks that I was going to Applebee’s before spending the night at Aviva’s house.
“Here.
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