Funny Story

Do me a favor,” he says lightly, “and unlock your door.”

“Why?”

“So I can push you out as I peel out of this parking lot,” he says.

Miles snorts. “Smug little prick.”

“He’s six four,” I say.

“Smug giant douche,” he amends.

“We should RSVP,” I say. “They’re not the bigger people. Fuck that!”

“Fuck that!” he agrees.

“Fuck that!” I half shout.

Mr. Dorner pounds on the wall. Miles presses a pointer finger to my lips. “Fuck that,” he whispers.

“Fuck that,” I whisper back

Because they’re both addicted to being universally loved. And they’re good at it. Good enough that they don’t realize you don’t get to be loved by people whose hearts you completely fucking destroy. They think they’re being the bigger people right now. But they don’t get to be the bigger people. For the next few years, they have to live with being the assholes.

“I just mean,” I hurry on, my words slurring together, “I’ve always been more of a few close friends person. And when I meet people who like everyone, are liked by everyone, this alarm goes off in my brain. Like, Okay, this person isn’t going to stick around, so don’t get attached.”

Gill loved you,” he argues.

“Because of osmosis,” I say. “Because you were there. I love talking to people I already know, but when I meet someone new, half the time my mind goes blank, and the other half of the time, I make a joke that absolutely no one realizes is a joke, or I ask something way too personal.”

“They,” I say, “suck.”

“She’s the love of my life,” he says.

“The love of your life sucks,” I tell him.

This is how he texts. With abbreviations, very little context, and no punctuation.

Peter didn’t hate Miles. He just didn’t think Miles was good enough for Petra, because Miles is a stoner without a college degree.

Petra is also a stoner without a college degree, but I guess it’s different when you’re a perfect ten with a picturesque family and well-padded bank account. Then you’re not a stoner; you’re a free spirit.

Another thing that must, despite my greatest wishes, be mentioned: Petra is preternaturally nice.

I say, and go back to my computer to continue looking for new jobs, far away from Peter and Petra, and far away from Waning Bay, Michigan.

I wonder if Antarctica is in need of a children’s librarian.

One hundred and eight days, and then I’m out of here