“She looked up when I entered but didn’t say hi. I was dirt to her. Lower than dirt. I was pond scum, the green, slippery kind. I turned to close the front door behind me but suddenly felt someone pushing it open from the other side. “Man, we gotta score chicks for the Big Dance,” Finkelstein said as he barged in. “By the way, how’s your eye?” “Shut up, Finkelstein,” I said. “And hey, why don’t you just come right on in?” “Don’t mind if I do. He-hurrggh, he-hurrggh.” Finkelstein leaned his neck ...out, clearly looking for something. He and my sister made eye contact. “You couldn’t score a chick if one fell out of a truck and hit you on the head,” Hill said with a bite. “Hey, Hill, I hear they invented a new bra for girls with your figure,” Finkelstein answered. “It’s called the Ironing Board.” “Nice braces, Alfred,” Hill replied. “Or did you swallow a pile of bicycle spokes?” “Toothpick!” “Chain-link-fence face!” “Chalkboard chest!”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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