Hate Mail

by Donna Marchetti

Dear Naomi, I hope you get struck by lightning and die in the middle of your next weather report. Wouldn’t that be ironic? —L

want you to know that if anyone ever did those things to me, it would be because he’s a shitty person and he doesn’t deserve me. Not the other way around. And if I saw someone treating one of my friends like that, I would kick him in the balls. Love, Naomi

“Maybe. You felt pretty hard when I bumped into you this morning.” He snaps his head in my direction, making me realize what I just said. My face heats. I hope that my sunburn is enough to disguise my blush. “Oh God. That came out wrong.” I slap my hand over my face. “Solid. I meant that your body was solid when I touched you and … none of this is coming out right, is it?” I peek through my fingers to see that he’s laughing at me. He pulls my hand off my face. “You should stop while you’re ahead,” he says. “I don’t feel like I’m ahead.”