But hey, at least she wasn’t fresh out of surgery, peeing into a bag. The comparison was…well, at least a moderate improvement in terms of torture.
Those amazing eyes of his dropped to the ground and he cleared his throat. After a moment, he seemed to collect himself and he looked back at her.What the fuck is a douche canoe?
Novo barked out a laugh that was so loud, she turned the heads of the humans seated across the room even though the music was playing. There was none of that from the females at the table, though. ’Cuz they were already staring at her.And geez, she couldn’t decide whether all their shock was because a male was addressing her. Or because Peyton looked like exactly what he was: a privileged son of the glymera.Well? he prompted. I was hoping to get a working definition.
It is not a compliment, she said. And it is worse than a douchebag.Bigger payload, huh, he murmured with a slow smile.
Yeah. Pretty much. You can fit a hell of a lot more douche in a canoe than a bag.
Hey, is this chair next to you taken? I had to walk all the way back here and I got a blister.I won’t, she said. She kept on smiling when she finally turned my way. I had a good time tonight. Thank you for taking me to the dance.
Here she was, covered in puke, actually thanking me for the evening. Jamie Sullivan could really drive a guy crazy sometimes.In the two weeks following the homecoming dance, my life pretty much returned to normal. My father was back in Washington, D.C., which made things a lot more fun around my house, primarily because I could sneak out the window again and head to the graveyard for my late night forays. I don’t know what it was about the graveyard that attracted us so. Maybe it had something to do with the tombstones themselves, because as far as tombstones went, they were actually fairly comfortable to sit on.
We usually sat in a small plot where the Preston family had been buried about a hundred years ago. There were eight tombstones there, all arranged in a circle, making it easy to pass the boiled peanuts back and forth between us. One time my friends and I decided to learn what we could about the Preston family, and we went to the library to find out if anything had been written about them. I mean, if you’re going to sit on someone’s tombstone, you might as well know something about them, right?It turns out that there wasn’t much about the family in the historical records, though we did find out one interesting tidbit of information. Henry Preston, the father, was a one-armed lumberjack, believe it or not. Supposedly he could cut down a tree as fast as any two-armed man. Now the vision of a one-armed lumberjack is pretty vivid right off the bat, so we talked about him a lot. We used to wonder what else he could do with only one arm, and we’d spend long hours discussing how fast he could pitch a baseball or whether or not he’d be able to swim across the Intracoastal Waterway. Our conversations weren’t exactly highbrow, I admit, but I enjoyed them nonetheless.