I rolled a pen between my fingers—Help’s pen—the one I’d snagged from her at McCoy’s. She hadn’t noticed the pen was missing—she was too flustered to realize what was happening—and that was exactly how I liked her. The pen was chewed on at the top, and it was so fucking typical of Emilia. She used to leave chewed pencils on her desk every single day in calculus class. I may have picked them up. I may have saved them. They may still be in a drawer somewhere in my old room. Shit happens when you’re a horny teenage boy.
