Dorthea Watson > Recent Status Updates

JWPianoMan: Where u?
Shosh466: In town.
JWPianoMan: Hot date?
Yeah, right. With a guy who must be at least eighty. I thumb back:
Shosh466: Video club business.

I can think of a lot of words to describe Chase, and amazing isn’t any of them. Except maybe that it’s amazing he isn’t in jail.

I hope I never hate anybody as much as that girl hates me.

Another of my crimes against humanity, like bullying her brother, and not dying when I fell off the roof.

I always shout, “Brendan sent me!” So they’ll know I’m not looking for trouble.

And amnesia. That’s pretty out there, although Wikipedia says it’s real.

“I’m Kimberly,” I tell him. “But you always call me Kimmy?” Not exactly true, but how’s he ever going to know?

“Cone on, how bad can it be?” I’m semi-joking, but those two are so stone-faced that I start to wonder, Yikes, what is this place—Frankenstein’s lab?

I capture it on video, all the while keeping up a running game commentary with Dad, who doesn’t seem to be a Barbie guy, surprise, surprise.

Shosh466: Boring school, boring town. Amnesia = big news.

When he sees me, he takes a step back, a little fearful. The fear looks good on him. At least that part of his memory works. He remembers that I’m the person who hates his guts.

He enters the room, tentative but smiling. And here I am unarmed, without my trusty tub of frozen yogurt.

I swear, he’s like a kindergartner who’s just been handed the world’s most intricate balloon animal.

I take hot showers—why wouldn’t cars?

Wow, Chase Ambrose has a mom! I always thought the popular people floated down to earth in a column of pure light from the Great Space Ark.

He takes a seat and then actually spreads his napkin across his lap! Just like a civilized person! Although—I look down at my own lap—no napkin.

“But wait—mighty Footballus has changed directions. He’s taking his mighty self to a different table. For reasons known only to his supreme mightiness, he’s coming—“

“But where’s their leader? The apex predator? Could that be him paying for a pack of fig newtons at the cash register? Yes, it is—the king of beasts, Footballus herois, his thunderous footsteps striking terror in the hearts of all creatures great and small.”

“Here we see the species Cheerleaderus maximus grazing in her native habitat, the salad bar…”

I take my beautiful vanilla yogurt with chocolate sprinkles, dump it over his head, and sweep out of the store.
My father’s in conversation with one of the other dads and almost misses me storming past. “Done so soon?” He asks. Then he looks back inside and sees our family’s archenemy, dripping frozen yogurt and sprinkles all down his face… “Car’s around the corner,” Dad mumbles hurrying me away…

“He’s my younger brother—fourteen minutes younger, anyway.”