“It’s a puzzler, and I don’t want to sound full of myself, but I may just be the Vyrus messiah."He shakes his head.“I don’t know for sure. Have to meditate on that shit some more. Anyhoo.”

“I’m lying on Cash’s chest, tracing his tattoo.“What does this mean?” I whisper.“It’s the Chinese symbol for awesome,” he teases lightly.I giggle. “If it’s not, which I imagine it isn’t, then it should be.”“Are you paying me a compliment? I just want to be sure, so I don’t miss it.”I slap his ribs. “You make it sound like I’m mean and horrible because I don’t throw myself at your feet.”“You don’t have to throw yourself at my feet. Although if you want to, I’m sure I can think of something for you to do while you’re down there.”I look up at him and he’s waggling his eyebrows again.“I’m sure you could.” Shaking my head, I settle back onto his chest and resume tracing the ink shapes. “Seriously, what do they mean?”Cash is quiet for so long I begin to think he’s not going to answer me. But then he finally speaks.“It’s a collage of things that remind me of my family.”

“I hadn’t seen any novel make the statement that entering the workforce was like entering the grave. That from then on, nothing happens and you have to pretend to be interested in your work. And, furthermore, that some people have a sex life and others don’t just because some are more attractive than others. I wanted to acknowledge that if people don’t have a sex life, it’s not for some moral reason, it’s just because they’re ugly. Once you’ve said it, it sounds obvious, but I wanted to say it.”

“Arthur reaches over to take them. As he does, his thumb brushes my thumb, and it’s so cold, this sudden shock of cold. The flowers get dropped. They make a slight, swishy sound as they hit the floor. “Shit,” I say, my voice sounding really loud in my ears. And then he kisses me.It’s— I don’t know.I don’t know, I don’t know.It’s my brain turning off, it’s nothing. It’s a feeling. It’s a mouth on mine, and fuck it. Fuck my whole goddamn life, man. Just fuck it. I don’t move away like I should, but neither does he. He puts one of his hands on my face.Then the bells on the front door ring. We break apart and I open my eyes.And there’s Arthur looking back at me.”

“This—” He shook his head. “You and me, you know it’s not a good idea.”“If you think so, maybe you should stay away.”“You don’t want me to,” he said, moving his hand to mine. Every time he touched me, my stomach got all jittery.“What do you want?” I asked.“You,” he said, his expression unreadable and his voice heavy and full of . . . full of what? Sadness? Regret? “To understandyou. To know that you’re safe. To not have to avoid the only person I can be myself around.”

“She’d wanted to completely shave her head: I don’t want long hair, I don’t want short hair, I don’t want hair at all, and I don’t want to be a girl or a boy, I want to be a yellow and orange leaf some little kid picks up and pastes in his scrapbook.”