The Dire Girl
she said, smiling into her cup, “is the interesting part.”
I waited, but she let the silence sit there between us, clearly pleased with herself. It would have irritated me if I had not known her well enough to hear the excitement underneath it. Jenny loved many things intensely and briefly, girls, guys, theories, comics, passing obsessions, places she had no business going after midnight, but stories were different. Stories she pursued with a strange kind of devotion. Not the neat, polished ones people handed you willingly. The buried ones. The ones that resisted.
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