You didn’t see that they’re perfect—loud and wild and don’tgiveashit, glittering with energy and smeared with idareyouto.
I sit in Christian’s van and watch. Jim throws snow at me and it slides down my neck and clumps my hair in sticky wet ropes.
Then we remember (of course) and he blasts the heat and cranks the music—screamo today; he’s in quite the mood—and he pulls out, and I lean my head against the ice window and watch kids walk home from school, blowing smoke rings with their breath.
“We’re your best friends, so we love you anyway, but people are beginning to think you’ve gone Over the Edge. And we want to Bring You Back.”
