Spring Strings

by Lily Morton

He just stuck up for me. If I had an actual heart, I might even be touched.

Me: There is a half-naked supermodel unconscious in my bedroom. Seconds later, the phone buzzes. Mother: Darling, I don’t know whether to be horrified or congratulate you.

Our gazes entangle and catch, held still by something that floats between us like dust caught in a sunbeam.