Alec froze too, at the twin shock of fangs and familiarity. The boy lifted his curly head, pushing the grumpy cat mask off his face, and froze. “Those feel like similar things sometimes.” “I just hate everyone around me and everything that is happening.” “I get shy when there are strangers too,” Alec told the kid. The weird coincidence emboldened Alec to try again. AS A NEW YORKER, I DO NOT SAY THIS LIGHTLY. The last text read VENICE SMELLS LIKE A TOILET. Alec could not help but notice that the conversation was entirely one-sided, the boy sending text after text with no response. The boy wrote another text to a contact he had saved as RF. “No hablo ingles,” he said without missing a beat.Īlec considered going away. “This conversation is happening in English.” “No hablo italiano,” the boy mumbled without looking up. “I don’t really like parties either,” Alec said sympathetically. THEY FEATURE MY LEAST FAVORITE THING: PEOPLE, ALL INTENT ON MY LEAST FAVORITE ACTIVITY: SOCIAL INTERACTION. He saw the boy texting, PARTIES WERE INVENTED TO ANNOY ME. He came over and leaned against the wall beside the boy. As a bevy of faeries passed the boy, giggling and groping, the boy scooted away.Īlec remembered being younger, and how overwhelming large groups of people had seemed. “In one hallway, the floor gleaming parquet and the ceiling festooned with golden cherubs, there was a boy in a grumpy cat mask and biker boots, not involved in any sexual activity, legs crossed and leaning against the wall.
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