“Sure they did. Who cares, though? They’re just parents.” “They’re your parents,” he said, glancing over at me.
“Plus, I like being liked. Is that crazy?” “Well, you don’t have to rush to hold doors open or smother me in compliments for me to like you.”
He slammed the brakes, and I flew forward hard enough that my breathing felt weird and tight.
I thought of the PET scan. Don’t worry. Worry is useless. I worried anyway.
We burned rubber, roaring away from a stop sign before turning left onto the misnomered Grandview
(there’s a view of a golf course, I guess, but nothing grand).
The only thing I could think of in this direction was the cemetery.
Augustus reached into the center console, flipped open a full pack of cigarettes, and removed one.
“Do you ever throw them away?” I asked him. “One of the many benefits of not smoking is that packs of cigarettes last forever,” he answered.
“I’ve had this one for almost a year. A few of them are broken near the filters,
but I think this pack could easily get me to my eighteenth birthday.”
He held the filter between his fingers, then put it in his mouth. “So, okay,” he said.
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