Yes, it does! I insisted. You cant just leave me!
For Christs sake, Logan cuts in. Would you forget about the fuckin unicorn or dickicock or whatever the hell it is—It doesnt make any sense! James argues.
—and let Tommy finish his story? Were never gonna hear the end at this rate.James throws up his hands, grumbling. Fine. But it still doesnt make any sense.For the record, my semantic vote goes to unidick.
Tommy continues. Right. So, Janeys walking home from school with Brandon, a lad from up the street, who shed been crushing on for weeks. And my das home early from work, sittin out on the stoop. So he says, Hey, Janey, you want me to grab some cream from the pharmacy to kill that monster on your forehead? And Janey goes crazy—screechin like a banshee at my da, sayin shed never talk to him again, making him feel two cents worth o shit. And my poor da—I mean, he was just tryin to be helpful. But what I figured was, no girl wants her troubles rubbed in her face—Janey knew she was a dickicorn, she didnt need it said out loud. But she especially didnt want it said in front of a lad she likes.He meets my eyes in the mirror. Its a pride thing, ya know? It wasnt that Miss Hammond didnt want your help; maybe she was embarrassed that she needed it.
I dont go back to Amelias the next morning. Not because Im not thinking about Olivia, but because I have a prior commitment—a visit to The Boys Home in the Bronx, one of many institutions funded by The Prince and Princess of Pembrook Charity. Its a private facility that takes in children whove been orphaned—an alternative to the overrun foster care system.
I meet with the director, an enthusiastic middle-aged man with tired eyes. He gives me a tour of the dorm room, the gymnasium, and the cafeteria. They do their best to cheer the place up with brightly colored paint and artwork on the walls, but it still resembles a prison for kindergarteners. The hollow-faced, curious glances of the children who live here follow my every move.I fall straight back on my bed, dramatically. The way someone would drop into a pool…or off a building ledge. Fitting.
You could borrow something of mine, Ellie starts, but…But Im five foot six. I have boobs—nice ones, actually—and while Im not Kim Kardashian, I also have an ass. Ellie is five foot nothing and can still buy her jeans at GAPKids.
I scroll through the contacts on my phone, looking for the hotel number Nicholas saved there this afternoon. I noticed that he didnt put his cell number in, but he probably has to keep that a secret for national security or something.Im just going to call him and be honest. Tell him, I dont know what you had in mind for tonight but we need to keep it jeans and T-shirt casual.