By a Thread

by Lucy Score

Harry was silent, and I looked up. He was sniffing the air. “You smell that?” he asked. I knew where this was going. “I do not.” “I do. It’s strong. Here. Let me waft it toward you,” he said, flicking his hands at me. “That’s the smell of bullshit.”

“Don’t make me send you the middle finger selfie again,” I told him.

“Maybe. I don’t know. Being around you feels like a never-ending boxing match, and I keep getting hit in the nuts.”

I’m hanging on by a thread here.”

I sighed. “Eat your pasta, weirdo.”

I, Dominic Russo, was smiling.