The Handsome Girl & Her Beautiful Boy by B. T. Gottfred

Author:B. T. Gottfred [Gottfred, B. T.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781627798525
Publisher: Henry Holt and Co.
Published: 2018-05-08T04:00:00+00:00

art

Of course I didn’t fall asleep that fast! I just wanted to see if Zee would want to kiss me, which of course she did because our kisses should be captured and studied by future generations. But I had to protect both of us and pretend I was asleep so she didn’t break my heart two days in a row.

* * *

When we wake up, we’re in the exact same position. This probably means we could spend forever together. Zee paid for three nights at The Last Riverbender Motel, so we get to leave our stuff there. And that feels like we have our first apartment together and I really want to say something grand about this as we walk to her truck but she has a date with Cam tonight even if she doesn’t realize it’s a date and thinking about that breaks my heart even though I thought not kissing her last night would save me from that. Ugh.

We stop at Starbucks, then go to my house so I can help my dad with breakfast. Zee comes inside because we do everything together now but I bet she wishes she didn’t because Abigail walks in while I’m putting cream cheese on Dad’s bagel and she says, pretending Zee is invisible, “Where were you last night?”

“I could tell you … but I don’t want to.” I’m a brat sometimes.

“Will you tell your friend who steals my clothes that when she sees my boyfriend tonight that she should tell him he better call me today or I’m never giving him a blow job again? Thanks.” Abigail fires a “die, bitch, die” glare at Zee and saunters back upstairs.

After she’s gone, I say, trying not to smile, “Hey, Abigail wanted me to tell you—”

“Asshole,” Zee says, which is code, in this instance, for “you’re the funniest person ever born.”

I put the bagel and coffee on a tray for my dad. This is more than I usually do, but maybe I’m feeling guilty about not telling him about Mom or that I spent the night at a motel with a girl even though he wouldn’t have noticed if I spent the next month in Istanbul. “Hey, Dad,” I say as I walk into the den, place his breakfast on the coffee table, and then open the shades so that he can be reminded that there’s a place called “The World” outside this smelly, horrible room. “I’m working the lunch shift today, if you want to come in and eat.”

“I don’t think so,” he says, still lying horizontal, eyes staring off into some netherworld.

“I have a great idea. You should walk! It’s less than a mile and it’s not too humid today, so you could get fresh air and sunshine and then I’ll get you whatever you want from the menu this time, I promise.”

With his gray, tired, numb, droopy, zombie face, my dad says, “Jesus, Art, who the hell taught you to shove your face in people’s business so much?”

I don’t say

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