“And realized (Stomachache? Check. Sun stabbing me in the eyeballs? Check. Head spinning like a cartoon boxer’s? Check.) that I must be hungover. Before my mind kicked into gear I felt a sort of giddy pride at it. I’d always been on the outside of hangovers. In high school it had been a badge of coolness, the girls coming in with rumpled hair and wan faces; I’m sooo hungover, they’d say, and then be slapped on the back. Now, I was part of that legacy. With my pounding head, my dry mouth, I belon...ged. I lay in bed trying to limit my thoughts to these, only gradually letting in the night before, still images like snapshots: me laughing with Jack as we toasted plastic cups of beer; the glow and sweet scent from Roy’s gnarled pipe; Molly calling me Mama; Alex’s eyes as he watched me across the fire pit. Then, the walk home. And there it was: the kiss that maybe could have been but wasn’t. What did it mean? And what would happen now? If he’d been planning to kiss me, then he’d think I had rejected him.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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