If It Makes You Happy

by Julie Olivia

It snags, like a stuck zipper in fabric, jerking against my stomach and taking threads with it.

If people were pastries, Carol would be a cannoli. When you take a bite of a perfect cannoli—even though it’s perfect—it cracks apart, and all that’s left is a gooey center. Carol is always on the verge of showing her soft side.

I’m doing what I always do—whatever needs to be done.

See? He likes it, Cliff mouths to me, tossing me a wink. Air catches in my throat, and I start coughing, having to take gulps of water to stop. Emily claps my back as my heart thrums in my chest so hard that I’m worried it will burst out. That wink should be illegal.

I think Cliff is funny. But he’s an acquired-taste type of funny.

I swallow uncomfortably and offer to take the dishes, mostly full with food people have sufficiently pretended to like.

I can’t. Because saying that I have a crush on Cliff—not simply thinking it—will only put something out there that I can’t take back. What would it accomplish anyway?

That’s wrong. I’m actually a high-maintenance sleeper. I always wear an eye mask and earplugs. One time, I accidentally popped one out at three in the morning, and the next day, I stumbled down the sidewalk to work through bleary eyes, clutching a massive coffee. But my dad doesn’t need to know that.

incredibly difficult to make. With many layers. A lot like you.”

My Girl. It always feels like I’m gone from her too long.