Made You Up

by Francesca Zappia

(“I know he looks kind of constipated all the time”—she knocked over a stack of cups in her excitement—“but you haven’t seen his biceps. My God, they’re beautiful.”)

Our neighbors turned to stare at us, because Miles Richter laughing was one of those things that the Mayans had predicted would signal the end of the world.

“She’s cute at first,” I said, “but trust me, it wears off once she crowns herself the pope and declares the bathroom ‘religious grounds.’” “She’s done that before?” Miles asked. “Oh yes. Several times. Last time I tried to take a shower, in fact. You could hear her screaming about blasphemers all the way down the street.”

Miles stepped out the front door right before Charlie came barreling out of the kitchen, aiming for me. She slammed into my legs. “When are you going to let me come with you?” “Someday,” I said. “Someday I’m going to travel the world, and you can come with me, okay?” “Okay,” she mumbled. But her eyes snapped up, and she jabbed a finger at me. “But I’m holding you to it!” “I won’t let you down, Charlemagne.”