Zero by Tom Leveen Page B

was worse when I closed them.
    “Uh-huh,” Jenn said. “But at least we were dumb together.” Her voice was still thick with alcohol. Somehow, we managed to laugh despite how gross we both must’ve felt.
    Then Jenn said, “You’re my best friend. I love you soooo much.” She patted me idiotically on my thigh.
    My eyes couldn’t stay open. “Uh-huh,” I said. “You. Too.”
    That’s when it happened.
    I was on the precipice of a delightful fall into oblivion when I felt her lips brush against mine. I forced my eyes open again, stared at her; Jenn sort of whisper-slurred my name and kissed me again. No mistake. Mouth open, the whole deal.
    She said something else, but that’s when I dropped deadasleep, assuming I’d been mistaken. Drunk still, perhaps. Dreaming. I might’ve even laughed, because it was a ridiculous situation. Absurd.
    Surreal
.
    The next morning—it was late, almost noon—I woke up slow and painful, except I felt something moving against my stomach.
    Jenn’s hand. Tracing circles over my belly, under my shirt. I kept my eyes closed, trying to tell myself I was still asleep, dreaming, something. Anything.
    A second later, I felt her curl up catlike beside me, very close, and kissing my neck, ear, jaw; all slight, small, but goddammit … so
on purpose
.
    There are only a couple different kinds of kiss. There was no mistaking this kind.
    “Are you awake?” she said.
    And I said, out loud: “No.”
    Jenn laughed a little, and I felt her lips on my cheek. Then her hand, still under the shirt, inching up—
    My phone rings, and the brush in my hand snaps in two.

eight
    When I was five years old I saw an insect that had been eaten by ants and of which nothing remained except the shell. Through the holes in its anatomy one could see the sky. Every time I wish to attain purity I look at the sky through flesh.
—Salvador Dalí
    I jerk to attention, hurl my broken paintbrush into a corner, and answer the phone.
    “Howdy,” Mike says. “I’m all set, you ready to go?”
    “Um,” I say, and clear my throat. “Yeah, absolutely.”
    “You all right?”
    “Yeah, yes, I was just …” I glance up at my ceiling. “Just finishing a painting real quick. I’ll leave in about five minutes.”
    “Perfect,” Mike says. “Hey, you like ice cream?”
    His voice slowly brings me back to the present tense. I feel my shoulders relax. “On the advice of counsel, I decline to answer. Wait, scratch that. Hell, yes!”
    Mike laughs, and I don’t resist a grin. Just hearing him talk, even over the phone, has miraculous healing properties.
    “Awesome. That’s all I needed to know.” He gives me directions to his house. “See you in a few.”
    I hang up and consider taking another minute to go ahead and paint over Jenn’s drawing, but honestly, I’d rather get out of here and focus on being with Mike. I can do the cover-up later.
    “Going out,” I say as I hustle past Mom, who is at her usual post beside the sink.
    “With Jenn? I haven’t seen her in a while.”
    For one moment, I really and truly consider telling Mom the whole sordid story, right then and there. She’s a big Jenn fan, always has been. What would she do if I told her the truth? Other than possibly not believe me?
    “Um …”
    “I didn’t think so,” Mom goes, and scrubs a pan as if to wash its sin away. Sinful pan! “Is it … a
boy
?”
    No, Mom, a fifty-something tranny named Luscious Tits
. I consider saying this because there’s a decent chance it’ll make her head implode. How’d she know about Mike anyway? Maybe Dad said something. But that would mean they’re
communicating
.
    “As a matter of actual fact, yes,” I say.
    Scrub, scrub, scrub, be cleansed, heathen pan! “Where exactly did you meet this boy?”
    Gotta watch my step here. It’s not like she doesn’t know I go to clubs, but she’s sure they are filled with
iniquity
. She’s right, to a degree, but god, it’s not like I’m doing drugs or