Page 108 of Cackle

“You like it?” I ask him.

He nods. He’s wearing a new hat Sophie made for him. It’s green and pointy and has a teeny pom-pom at the tip. He looks very, very cute.

“You’re such a good boy,” I tell him, tickling his chin. I sit on the couch and he climbs onto my lap. I pet his back with my index finger. I like the way his fuzz feels.

“I’m happy,” I say to him or maybe to myself. Then I say it again because it’s true and because I like the way it sounds.

VALENTINE’S

“There’s something different,” Oskar says, his eyes catching on mine. It’s early the next morning, and he’s rolling up the sleeves of his flannel while the espresso machine whirs behind him.

“My hair,” I say. “I cut it.”

He doesn’t say anything to this, just grunts and begins to steam milk.

“A compliment is common courtesy,” I say, delighted by my own audacity.

“Do you care what I think?” he asks, wiping a hand on his shoulder rag.

“No, not really.”

He grunts again. “Latte?”

“With honey.”

He taps the cup on the counter and pours the milk. Concentration wrinkles appear on his forehead.

“The cut looks good,” he says, still focused on the latte. “But it’s not the hair. It’s something else.”

“Oh,” I say.

He puts a lid on the cup and slides it toward me.

I hand him cash and wait for him to meet my eye again, but he doesn’t. A customer comes in behind me.

“Morning, Ed,” Oskar says. “Usual?”

I walk out to my car, considering the possibility that Oskar was flirting with me. Stranger things have happened.

I sink into the front seat and remove the lid from my latte to sip at the foam.

There’s a perfect heart. He made a heart with the milk.

He was flirting with me!

I’m smug in this belief until I get to school, where there are hearts all over the fucking place. Pink and red streamers. Paper roses. Everywhere.

Valentine’s Day is Friday.

I’d forgotten.

I’m not thrilled to be reminded in this manner.

The halls are unceremoniously undecorated in my wake. Tape unsticks. Streamers rip. A cardboard cupid gets decapitated.

Several students and a custodian bear witness to this mysterious instantaneous destruction.

“Looks like they, uh, need to use better adhesive,” I mumble as I do my best to pretend my subconscious is not wreaking havoc on the hard work of the student council.