“That’s sweet. And I want to trust you with that task. But know that if you take me to another scream poetry reading, I will fake break up with you so loudly they’ll think I’m in the performance lineup.” Levi lets out a sharp, gratifying laugh. “I swear I thought the flier said slam poetry.” My lips curl as I remember the look of absolute bone-deep alarm on Levi’s face when the first poet took the stage and started bellowing about her cat sitter ghosting her at the top of her lungs. That was the last Friday night Levi was allowed to pick where we all hung out for a long time.
