The Worst Years of Your Life by Mark Jude Poirier Read Free Book Online

admitted.
    â€”Yeah, I know you. You spent that money on nonsense.
    I smiled.—You got that right, beautiful.
    â€”So what was it?
    A group came into the diner and in the wonderful anonymity of the American family, I thought they’d just left.—Look. I pointed. Trisha peeped them, but wasn’t into laughing at stability. I was going to get you this bear.
    â€”A teddy bear?
    The food arrived.—Don’t say it like that, I protested. It was a nice one. Had a smoking jacket and a pipe. He looked like me. Don’t you think he would be cute?
    She ate. Dinner done, she paid the bill. We got up and out. Flushing at night was like Flushing during the day, just darker. Together we walked to her building.
    â€”Anyone ever ask why you’re dating a younger man?
    â€”Maybe.
    She wore a new good smell applied to her skin, but I ignored it, busy instead rubbing my nose, my chin, my neck, learning my face’s true dimensions.
    â€”And what did you tell him?
    She shrugged.—What should I have said?
    We walked fast. Soon her building stood before us. It wasn’t so big but tonight it seemed majestic. Trisha’s two older sisters were outside.—Hey Anthony, Gloria said, looking to the others. The secrets this bunch held among them were enough to destroy one thousand ex-boyfriends. Trisha smiled, waited.
    â€”What? I asked.
    â€”You aren’t going to thank me for paying?
    â€”You’re right. Thank you so much. The food was delicious.
    â€”I know. She touched my side.
    â€”Am I ugly? I asked her.
    â€”You? She put her face against my neck. She tried to tickle me but neither of us was laughing. On the street, traffic was still a thriving business; the sky was purple and lost.

Note to Sixth-Grade Self
J ULIE O RRINGER
    O N W EDNESDAYS WEAR A SKIRT . A SKIRT IS BETTER FOR dancing. After school, remember not to take the bus.
    Go to McDonald’s instead. Order the fries. Don’t even bother trying to sit with Patricia and Cara. Instead, try to sit with Sasha and Toni Sue. If they won’t let you, try to sit with Andrea Shaw. And if Andrea Shaw gets up and throws away the rest of her fries rather than sit with you, sit alone and do not look at anyone. Particularly not the boys. If you do not look at them, they may not notice you sitting alone. And if they don’t notice you sitting alone, there is still a chance that one of them will ask you to dance.
    At three-thirty stand outside with the others and take the number seven bus uptown. Get off when they all get off. Be sure to do this. Do not stare out the window and lose yourself. You will end up riding out to the edge of town past the rusted gas-storage tanks, and you will never find the right bus home. Pay attention. Do not let the strap of your training bra slip out the armhole of your short-sleeved shirt. Do not leave your bag on the bus. As you cross the street, take a look at the public high school. The kids there will be eating long sticks of Roman candy and leaning on the chain-link fence. Do they look as if they care who dances with whom, or what steps you’ll learn this week? News flash: They do not. Try to understand that there’s a world larger than the one you inhabit. If you understand that, you will be far ahead of Patricia and Cara.
    For now, though, you live in this world, so go ahead and follow the others across the street to Miggie’s Academy of Dance. There is a low fence outside. Do not climb on it in your skirt. Huddle near the door with the other girls. See if anyone will let you listen. Do not call attention to yourself. Listen as Patricia, with her fascinating stutter, describes what she and Cara bought at the mall. Notice how the other girls lean forward as she works through her troublesome consonants: G-G-Guess Jeans and an Esp-p-prit sweater. They will talk about the TV shows they watch, who killed whom, who is sleeping with whom; they will compare starlets’ hairstyles.