Hands Down

by Mariana Zapata

he’d been rolling around in a car with no air conditioning and a bumper with so many dents he called them freckles.

I’d be an idiot to ruin a good thing. And an idiot, I wasn’t. Well, most of the time I wasn’t.

“I know what he’s done. I know who he is. And I know you too. And I guess, if I could’ve picked someone for you, it wouldn’t be Zac.” “Who would it be?” “Jesus.”