“We should RSVP,” I say. “They’re not the bigger people. Fuck that!” “Fuck that!” he agrees. “Fuck that!” I half shout. Mr. Dorner pounds on the wall. Miles presses a pointer finger to my lips. “Fuck that,” he whispers. “Fuck that,” I whisper back. He watches my lips move against his finger. I feel another pleasant zing. “We should go to bed,” I say. And then, because it came out a little too low, I say, “I mean, I should get to bed.” He lets his hand fall away. “After we RSVP.”
