Deep End

by Ali Hazelwood

It takes him a while to answer. When he does, he’s not looking at me. “Because sometimes I can’t breathe when you’re around.”

“I have hobbies,” I counter weakly. Sometimes, when I’m done with homework at a decent hour, I read Mafia erotica until I fall asleep. Eat crackers in bed. Consider calling 911, just to talk to someone.

“My brilliant, beautiful girl.”