Love, Theoretically

by Ali Hazelwood

YOU, ELSIE ‘I’M ALLERGIC to peanuts but I still ate Mrs. Tuttle’s homemade brittle because I didn’t want to hurt her feelings, have you seen my EpiPen?’ Hannaway—

It would be, as the kids say, a bad look. And, as the lawyers say, illegal.

I need a new nervous habit. Nail biting. Fidget spinners. I’ve heard great things about crystal meth.

To witness my misery. Like those arsonists who return to the crime scene to masturbate—

But I doubt Olive is familiar with the concept of fake dating,

smack the salmon

there were seventy million cheerleaders they could have, I don’t know, played D&D under the bleachers with, but no, they decided to choose the same one. Dana.” His mouth twitches. “I don’t think that’s what people do under the bleachers, Elsie.”

“I need to get to my place, get dressed, pick up my stuff, take the bus—” “I’ll drive you.” “Drive me where?” “Anywhere.”