The End Zone

by L.J. Shen

On the eighth night, the girl gave the boy her heart. He took it silently, never offering his back.

“Because—sorry to disappoint,” he mimics my tone, and pretty accurately, too (the bastard), “but he was banging a Kappa Alpha Slutta whatever chick named Nadia.

“I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kill you. Now, I’m pretty sure I’d be a top in jail, not a bottom, but still—not really into dudes. So, yes?”

Inhaling the pizza, salad, and beer like food is a foreign concept that’s left me in a carbma (carb coma).