“So the brother isn’t getting a postcard?”

“No, I’ve already shipped him a letter asking him to stop writing me.” Evangeline makes room for me on the bench and shuffles all her postcards as she tells me, “Anyway, thought I would hang around here and get these sent out before the siren song of unread books back home captures me. How are you doing?”

“I’m really wet.”

“Another reason I’m hiding out here.”

I’m not sure why I feel the sudden urge to confess to my former babysitter, but maybe it’s because she’s both a stranger and someone I trust. “I’m really missing my dad pretty hard this week. I just don’t know why the hell he would leave us, you know.” I breathe in and out, in and out, in and out, trying to push the anger back down, but instead it beats me and I spit out, “It’s affecting my relationship with Genevieve, who thinks she’s losing me and . . . I don’t know.”

“Is she losing you?”

“I think I’m kind of, sort of, definitely losing myself right now.”

“In what way, kiddo?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I’m just growing up.”

“You mean you’re done playing with Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle toys?”

“They were action figures, Evangeline.” I feel a little better talking to someone outside the universe of my problems. But I don’t know if I want to fill her in on how someone who doesn’t have much direction is seriously disorienting me. “I should probably get home and see if Genevieve is in the mood to answer my calls. Or go fucking punch myself if she isn’t.”

“Language,” Evangeline says.

“The babysitter never died in you, did it?”

“Afraid not, kiddo.”

She mails out her postcards and walks me back home under her large yellow umbrella. I don’t even change into dry clothes before jumping onto my bed and calling Genevieve. I’m not really sure I even know what I would say, but it still sucks when she doesn’t answer.

3

SIDE A

   If I could afford a Leteo procedure, I’d give Genevieve the money so she could forget me, but since that’s never going to happen, I’m outside trying to sketch what our future will look like if we stick together. The page is still blank. It’s been a week since Thomas’s birthday, and despite another awkward phone call last night, I’m still pretty sure Genevieve doesn’t believe I love her anymore.

I put down my notebook when I see Me-Crazy coming through the gates, his head craned back and fingers pinching his bloody nose. Brendan, Skinny-Dave, and Baby Freddy are all behind him. I rush over. “What happened?”

“Nosebleed,” Me-Crazy says, laughing.

“Nosebleed after beating down some Joey Rosa dick suckers,” Skinny-Dave says, hopping up and down and smacking his fists like he was a part of the fight. Whenever we brawled with kids from the Joey Rosa Projects, he always bitched out and hid in bodegas or behind trash cans.

“What the fuck did they do to you?”

Brendan sits Me-Crazy down on the bench. “We were walking by when the usual suspects ran their mouths because we partied on your boy’s roof. Danny blew a kiss at Me-Crazy and got his shit rocked.”

“Me-Crazy wrecked them all!” Skinny-Dave shouts.

Baby Freddy and Skinny-Dave are walking to Good Food’s to grab some tissues, and I hear them recapping their favorite part of the fight—when Me-Crazy made Danny kiss the bottom of his boot—seven times. I don’t even think Danny is gay, but that kind of stuff just sets Me-Crazy off like little white party poppers. He’s fucking insane, but at least he’s on our side.

And here’s one of my problems: if I don’t choose Genevieve, I’ll find myself on the receiving end of a boot to the face.

Before I head out to meet Genevieve, I suddenly have a big to-do list. It ranges from balling up socks to color-coding my comics to add some life to my corner of the living room. But I snap out of it because I’m excited to see her, or at least I’m telling myself I am, because it’s how I would’ve behaved if I were going to see Thomas.

On the phone last night, Genevieve mentioned there’s a flea market opening up today, and I invited myself along because that’s what a good boyfriend does.

When I see her, I make it a point to tell her something really nice about herself, like how much I love the constellation of freckles running down from her neck to her shoulder blade. I’m trying to prove to her that she’s my universe and I orbit within her, simple as that. I learned how to be this way because of my friends. Not directly, of course, since Brendan blasts his way through girls, and Skinny-Dave is always texting multiple prospects simultaneously, but anti–role models are just as enlightening. And at the very least she seems to appreciate the effort. Or she pretends she does.

The flea market is packed. We pass by boring vendors selling buttons, shoelaces, tube socks, and underwear. She tries on some emerald earrings by one table and I walk off a little bit to find a comic worth buying. I check out the next table and there’s a sign that reads vintage video games. They have the old Nintendo cartridges for Pac-Man and Super Mario Bros. 3 and Castlevania, all priced for twenty dollars or more with a marker. I nod at the guy in the Zelda shirt and move on to the next table with all these fridge magnets. I consider buying one for Thomas. But that would just be an excuse to go see him, so I don’t, even though there are words crawling around my brain that I want to come out and say.

I turn and Genevieve isn’t at the jewelry table anymore. I tiptoe and find her waving me down. I make my way to her and she’s holding a blue moleskin sketchbook. “What do you think? I want to make sure you actually like it before I surprise you with it.”

“I don’t need a new notebook,” I say. I still have enough spiral notebooks with loose leaf I haven’t used up yet.

“But do you want a new one?”

“No thanks.” I know she’s not some rich girl, but she’s definitely much better off than I am with her own bedroom and weekly allowances. She doesn’t really understand Want versus Need like we do at home; just because you can afford something doesn’t mean you have to have it.

Things I Want: new video games; trendier sneakers; a laptop with Photoshop; a home with enough bedrooms so friends can stay over.

Things I Need: food and water; coats and boots during the winter; a home to come home to, no matter how small; a girlfriend like Genevieve; and a best friend like Thomas instead of a sort of best friend like Brendan.

Genevieve grabs my hand and I fake a smile. I notice she’s still a little unhappy herself.