Sex Kittens and Horn Dawgs Fall in Love by Maryrose Wood Read Free Book Online Page A

seems like quite a lot of lip gloss.
    “Seventh grade. Ah, the folly of youth.” Jacob seems genuinely sad.
    “Could be time to move on, bro,” says Matthew, not unkindly.
    “No doubt, no doubt.” Jacob has stopped swinging and scuffs the ground with his big Great Dane–puppy feet. “Loving the wrong woman can lead to calamity, for sure. You should see the play my mom’s in. She gets peeved at her ex and like, burns his new wife to a crisp with acid, and then, like that’s not enough mayhem, she grabs a knife and utterly Tarantinos these two little kids they had together. It’s a gorefest, man. It’s mad violent.”
    “That’s tragic,” says Matthew.
    “That’s
Medea,
” I say.
    “Exactly,” Jacob says. “Only with TV screens and stuff. It’s a modern version. Mother Thespian got some excellent reviews. The dude from
Variety
thought she had ‘ferocious clarity.’ ”
    We all agree that having ferocious clarity sounds extremely cool, as Jacob retrieves his scooter.
    “Sorry I couldn’t be more, whatever,” says Jacob. “But I applaud the wild and unrealistic ambition of your project.”
    “And, hey, sorry about the L train girl,” says Matthew. “It’s a loss. But you’ll survive.”
    “No, Mattski,” says Jacob, suddenly quite serious. “Think Eastern for a minute. It’s not the loss that leads to suffering. It’s ego, man. It’s the fact that Miss Orange Sneakers did not even notice me falling in love with her. To me, during those like, twelve precious minutes we were in each other’s lives, she was the, what is that expression? The crème de la plooz, you know, the people’s choice, the best of the best.”
    “Ne plus ultra,” I fill in.
    “Right. But to her, I was just another nameless face on the L train. If she even saw me. I gotta live with that, you know,
ordinariness
. That’s painful.”
    Matthew looks at me. “Oh,” he says. “Is
that
the painful part?”
    I nod, while thinking to myself that Jacob is certainly far from ordinary. “Yup,” I say. “That’s pretty much it.”
    Jacob is rocking back and forth on the Razor, balancing first on one wheel, then the other. “Oh, hey!” he says. “You should talk to Dervish. She’s done her time in the big house of love, to be sure.”
    “Who’s Dervish?” I ask.
    “Miss Greenstream. My sitar teacher. She’s a way highly evolved soul. Come any Saturday, after my lesson.” Jacob does a fast one-eighty on the back wheel of his scooter.
    “Peace, people! I wish you—ferocious clarity!” He pounds his fist in the air as he zooms off. “Whoo-hooooo!”
    OBSERVATIONS AND DESCRIPTION:
MATTHEW DWYER’S NOT-CRUSH ON FELICIA
    I would like to note that from a scientific standpoint, it is unusual to observe a phenomenon by describing its absense. [sic—okay, he’s not the greatest speller—F.]
    I cannot say that I have a “crush,” or any other “romantic” feelings for Felicia. However, I do like her very much and find her interesting and intelligent, with a good sense of humor. I consider her a friend. She is a perfectly pleasant-looking person and I find no single aspect of her off-putting in any way.
    To tell the truth, the feelings commonly referred to as a “crush”—a heightened interest in one particular person, a sense of longing for that person’s company and affection, and even a level of anxiety regarding whether the “crush” feeling is returned—although I understand these sensations intellectually, I don’t really have direct experience—
    “Ready for lights-out, honey?” Mom is standing in the doorway of my bedroom with her hand on the switch.
    “Matthew finds no single aspect of me offputting in any way,” I tell her. “That’s good, isn’t it?”
    “Welllllllll, it’s not baaaaaad,” she replies, with a singsongy tune in her voice. She presses her lips together in that way people inexplicably call pursed. “Honey,” she croons, “you don’t think that by doing this project