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“You look a little funny,” she says. “Is everything alright with you?”

Her feet are stretched out in front of her, buried in the plush, matted fur of her dog, Zoo. When she wriggles her toes, it looks like there are animals deep inside Zoo’s fur. The sofa fabric is threadbare, so smooth from wear that it’s slick.

I sit. I stare at the TV screen and think how much I want a cigarette, but how I’m too uncomfortable to smoke in the house; how it’s still my secret that I smoke. Natalie smokes, but she’s braver than me. When Agnes or Hope or her father bitch at her about smoking, she just tells them to fuck off. But I feel like a guest, trapped in my own politeness, so I can’t do that. Finally, I say, “It was just weird seeing all the pictures Neil took of New York City. Makes me want to live there someday.”

“I could see you in New York,” Hope says, turning to look at me.

“Yeah?”

“I really can,” she says. Then she takes her small bible from the table next to the sofa and places it in her lap. “You want to ask God about it?”

I shrug. “Okay, I guess.”

She pats the sofa cushion next to her. “Let’s do a bibledip.”

I slide over.

“Close your eyes,” she says.

I close my eyes and think of how to phrase my question. “Okay,” I say. “Will I end up living in New York City?”

Hope takes the bible in her hands and opens it to a random page. “Okay,” she says.

I stab my finger onto the page and open my eyes.

Hope leans in to see what word I hit. “Strength,” she reads.

I sit back. “What does that mean?”

Hope reads the surrounding words to try and gather context. “I think it means that you will need a lot of strength before you can move there. That you need to be very sure of who you are. I think it’s a very positive bible-dip.”

“You do?”

“Absolutely. I think it means you’re in an enormous period of growth now and that when you come out of it, you’ll be strong enough to live where you want to live.”

This makes me feel better somehow. I like that Hope speaks fluent God. I like that she can almost predict the future.

Zoo rolls over on her side and lets out a deep, tired sigh.

Hope yawns. “I’m sleepy, too, Zoo,” she says. She sets her bible back on the table under the lamp and then turns the lamp off. “We’re going to bed.”

“Yeah,” I say, “me too.”

Hope leads Zoo out of the room and I sit and watch the TV flip. I can still smell Neil; it’s like his smell is trapped between my upper lip and my nose. I think I want to wash my face, take a shower.

The TV flips. I close my eyes. When I do, the dark triangle comes at me again. I swallow.

The crack in the ceiling. When I close my eyes, all I can see is the crack in the ceiling.

SCHOOL DAZE

H

ER DESK WAS IN THE CENTER OF THE ROOM AND EVERYONE who sat next to her, behind her and in front of her was her best friend in the whole wide world. They would pass her folded notes, which she would unfold, read and then pass to someone else, giggling. I often saw her leaning over and whispering something in someone’s ear. I was sure it was something nice. “Let’s surprise Heather after school and take her to a movie!” She had a puffy black afro that she adorned with combs and I used to sit there wishing I could touch it. I imagined it would feel woolly, like a sheep. But also lighter like cotton candy. I knew if I actually did reach across the two desks between us and touch her afro, she would scream. She was the whitest girl in school, even though she was black.

She was Bill Cosby’s daughter and I loathed her for this.

“He’s sooooooo cute,” she would say when one of her friends handed her a blue Smurf key chain. Or, “Venus was the goddess of love,” she would correctly answer in Greek mythology class, her bright white smile occupying one-third of her face.

This girl was everything in life that I wasn’t. She was smart, articulate, outgoing and popular. She came from the best of families and never wore the same clothes two days in a row. And I was positive she