Scrappy Little Nobody

Saying other kids were mean felt like I was saying I was more kind, which definitely wasn’t it—more anxious maybe, more sensitive. I guess all I was feeling was that I was different.

he’s just not that interesting
The summer I turned twenty-one I dated a musician named Connor. Well, I thought he was a musician and that we were dating. He thought he was a screenwriter who occasionally played music and that we were “hooking up and not labeling things because labels cause drama.” He was twenty-eight and something of an introvert. I took this to mean that he was deep and artistic and probably judged me for talking as much as I do. Once we broke up I realized

vinced?”

He chose his words carefully. “Okay, it’s just that the chase is kind of gone. It’s kind of a turnoff.”

Huh, I thought, I wonder how much therapy I’ll need to undo the damage from this moment.

The origin of his logic had taken a turn, but I couldn’t even be bothered to point it out. The behavior that I’d thought was adventurous, and awesome, and earning me girlfriend-of-the-damn-century points was making him lose interest in fucking me because I seemed too . . . available? Three months ago I