Bright Side by Kim Holden Page B

stupendous? She does. It may be my new favorite word. “Stupendous,” I repeat. I can’t stop smiling at her. It’s like she’s turned on this switch inside me. “You do the same.” I offer a lazy salute. It’s a habit I’ve picked up from working with Romero so long.
    I glance at the clock. It’s only 6:55am, and this has already been a stupendous day.
    What in the hell just happened? I feel like I’ve been asleep for years and I’ve only just woken up.

Wednesday, August 31
    (Kate)
    I’ve been in Clayton and Pete’s room for the past two hours. We all talked the first hour and then Clayton suggested, “Let’s play Fatally harm, Screw, Civil Union .”
    I look at Pete to see if he has any clue what Clayton’s talking about but he looks as confused as I am and then it hits me. “Dude, I am not playing Kill, Fuck, Marry .”
    Clayton looks astonished I’d deny him. “It sounds so obnoxious when you say it like that. Why not?”
    I roll my eyes. “I haven’t played that since I was like fifteen.”
    Pete’s still confused. “What’s Kill, Fu —” He can’t even say the word. He’s definitely never played this game.
    Now I’m smiling because Pete’s innocence is too damn adorable. “Clayton,” I shift my gaze to meet his eager eyes, “John our dorm RA, Hector the dude who works in the cafeteria, and Sugar my roommate.”
    His smile fades. “For God’s sake, Katherine, those options are horrific.”
    I smile and taunt, “You’re the one who wanted to play. And Hector’s not horrific. He’s super nice.”
    “How do you even know he’s nice?”
    “I talk to him every night when I drop my dirty dishes off in the cafeteria washroom.”
    “What you two do isn’t talking. It’s a sad combination of Spanglish and charades.”
    “He’s teaching me Spanish. I’m teaching him English,” I defend.
    He smirks . “What has he taught you?”
    I laugh because I know I’m caught. Hector’s English is extremely limited and what we do is closer to charades than a verbal conversation, but we give it our best effort. I puff up my chest. “I know ‘Mi nombre es Kate’ and ‘Como estas’ and ‘gato.’ And ‘Ami no me gustan las zanahorias,’ which means carrots taste like shit.”
    Pete looks skeptical. “He taught you how to say, ‘Carrots taste like … crap’?’”
    I wave my hand dismissively . “It probably means ‘I don’t like carrots,’ but I prefer ‘Carrots taste like shit.’ Because they do.” I eyeball Clayton, who’s now squirming. “Back to the game Clay: John, mi amigo Hector, and Sugar. Break it down.”
    Pete still hasn’t caught on.
    Clayton sighs. “Fatally harm has to be Sugar because I can’t work with her any other way.” He pauses. “The other two are making me nauseous.”
    “Play your cards, dude.”
    He covers his eyes and I glance and see the recognition registering in Pete’s eyes. His cheeks are the distinct shade of utterly embarrassed. Clayton sputters, “Screw John because he’s just too mean to spend the rest of my life with and Civil Union Hector, even though I don’t speak a word of Spanish and his hair net, baggy acid-wash jeans, and white, clunky, old-man sneakers are atrocious.” He can’t get the words out quickly enough and crosses his arms over his chest in a pouty gesture. “I’m done playing.”
    I clap and laugh at the disgusted look on his face. “That was classic, Clayton.” Pete looks uncomfortable as hell like he’s afraid he’s up next so I switch gears. “Okay, new game.”
    I proceeded to make up a new game where one person comes up with a question and then we all have to go around the circle and answer it. I learned that Pete was born in Texas, but grew up in Omaha, Nebraska. His favorite food is rare steak with sautéed garlic and mushrooms, his favorite childhood toy was a microscope (is that a toy?), and he’d rather have his little toe cut off with hedge clippers than walk across campus naked. And