When Gracie Met The Grump

by Mariana Zapata

Because my gut said this man wasn’t a ball of sunshine. I had a feeling he wasn’t even a night-light.

I blinked. Then I looked at my hand and gave myself a high-five with the other one before climbing up the steps and going inside too.

I hoped that every single person who had been at my house got hemorrhoids. Internal and external ones.

We’d shared a Snickers. Anything was possible.

“You stubborn little butthole.” I gasped. “Hey. You’re the butthole.” Rude. “No, you are.” “No—”

And my fucking heart just… it didn’t soar; it freaking bunny-hopped its way across state lines.

The bunny in my chest turned into an Olympic champion, long-distance jumper.