Fuck. I’m supposed to be the one who knows her better. The one who knows things about her that she never told me. Her favorite candy (chocolate peanut butter cups), the scent of her shampoo (honeydew melon), the sub she orders (turkey with mayo, lettuce, tomatoes, and bell peppers on wheat bread). Who understands things about her she’s never admitted out loud to anyone. Somehow, she sees right through my bullshit to everything I’ve been hiding so well from everyone else. I play it cool, leaning my hands back on the concrete. “So you’ve got me figured out, huh?”
