“Her hands quieted. "Yeah. Because even if the law says that no one is responsible for anyone else, helping someone who needs it is the right thing to do." I sat down beside her, close enough that the skin of her arm hummed right next to mine. "You really believe that?"She looked down at her lap "Yeah."Then how," I asked, "can you walk away from me?”

“She looked down again and I was stymied. I sat. Oh, this was enough to make me love her, because I was right with her, understanding every second and longing to step in. I didn’t even need to know the specific that was troubling her, because to me her halting voice easily stood for the general woe that hangs in the air, even on life’s happiest days.”

“Want to make out?”“With who?” she asks, not bothering to look up.“Me.”She lifts her head from her book just long enough to give me a once-over. “No, thanks,” she says, then goes back to her homework.She’s fuckin’ with me. She’s got to be fuckin’ with me, right? “Because of that pendejo Tuck?”“No. Because I don’t want Madison’s leftovers.”Wait. Un. Momento. I’ve been called a lot of things before, but . . . “You callin’ me leftovers?”“Yeah. Besides, Tuck is a great kisser. I wouldn’t want you to feel bad when there’s no way you can compete.”That guy hardly owns a pair of lips. “Wanna bet?”

“She looks at me and at Dave. She looks out the curtain and strums her guitar. "Yeah," she says. "Oh yeah. This I can do.”

“Then all of a sudden, this tear plopped down on the checkerboard. On one of the red squares – boy, I can still see it. She just rubbed it into the board with her finger. I don't know why, but it bothered hell out of me. So what I did was, I went over and made her move over on the glider so that I could sit down next to her – I practically sat down in her lap, as a matter of fact. Then she really started to cry, and the next thing I knew, I was kissing her all over – anywhere – her eyes, her nose, her forehead, her eyebrows and all, her ears – her whole face except her mouth and all. She sort of wouldn't let me get to her mouth.”

“I wanted to talk to her because she seemed the most likely to not be manipulating me, but because she looked like the one least likely to manipulate me, she could in fact be the master manipulator, manipulating me into manipulating myself by asking for her help, ergo—yeah, I’d looked it up and it wasn’t a person—I’d fallen right into her trap. Got it? Glad somebody did.”