Sometimes I wonder whether Alex and I had anything besides a hometown in common anymore. We had been so compatible when we were little: making rollercoaster rides out of odd stuff around the house, pretending the living-room carpet was lava, hosting dog pageants with Alex’s Puppy In My Pocket toys. Friendships were easier when you were a kid.
I had Random.org select a random % for me and it decided on 37%.
“I’ve missed Mr. Samson,” Alisha said.
“Mother, he was a monster. And he’s been in his grave for a year. At least I thought he was in his grave. And, you’re driving around with him -no wait, he’s driving around with you in the truck?”
Today is 20-10 so I picked 20% of this fabulous read.
“Group number two, please step forward.”
“I can’t do this, I can’t do this. Get your fucking hands off of me I’m not going to get my head bit off too!” Ricky was screaming. Todd had hold of him and was dragging him to stand before the towering, blood slavering monster blocking the only way out.
“Whatever, I get it.” Clarice pats me on the back. “When’s the big family dinner?”
I’m having dinner with Stephen’s family tonight. Maybe that’s why I feel like I’m going to puke at any second. And here I’m thinking it was the shrimp I didn’t eat last night. “Tonight.”
Breathe, Gert. Breathe.
“Wow. You nervous?” she asks, all guru.
“Maybe.” I swallow bile.
“I think I’d be puking.”
“Hadn’t occurred to me,” I lie.