Free Futures and Frosting by Tara Sivec Page A

thing at home.
    Liz pulls her
iPhone out of her purse and slaps it into my open palm.  I yanked it to me
faster than a fat kid with a piece of cake and quickly click on the Facebook icon
and log into my account.
    “Holy fucking
shit,” I whisper as the little globe symbol at the top of the screen tells me I
have sixty-five new notifications.
    Liz moves over
next to me and glances over my shoulder.
    “Oh don’t worry.
Most of those were you replying to your own posts using my account.  You were
really cracking yourself up last night.”
    This is doing
nothing to make me feel better.  I go to Katie’s page and clicked on one of the
two photo albums she had in there.  I quickly scan through the pictures and
don’t find any offending comments.  Maybe I had deleted them.
    Right, and
maybe fairies will start shitting money on my front lawn.
    “Wrong photo
album,” Drew states as he also comes around behind me so he can peer over my
other shoulder. “The photo album you want is the one titled, 'Missionary
Trip to Jerusalem.'   And yes, I totally just said ‘missionary’ without
laughing.”
    I am going
straight to hell.
    At this point,
Carter moves his head to the side, right next to mine, so he too can look down
at the phone.
    I click on the
correct album and sure enough, under every single photo from her trip to
Jerusalem with people from her CHURCH GROUP, I have posted the words, “Spitters
are quitters.”
    “Oooh, oooh,
wait!  This is my favorite part!” Drew says excitedly as he snatches the phone
out of my hand and navigates to the last picture in the album.
    He finds what he
was looking for and barks out a laugh before handing the phone back to me. I
grab it out of his hand roughly and shoot him a dirty look for his excitement
at my epic fail.
    Not only does it
say “Spitters are quitters” under the last photo in the album, but below that
stellar use of the English language I have written, “Jesus is my homeboy.”
    “Your cousin is
never going to forgive me,” I said with a sigh.
    “Eh, she’s a
bitch anyway.  Someone needed to put her in her place.” Carter laughs as he
tightens his hold on me.
    I reach my arm
out to hand the phone back to Liz and notice a funny look on her face.
    “What?” I ask
with trepidation, my arm just hanging there since she hadn’t reached out to
take the phone from me.
    “Oh fuck,
there’s more?” I question her as my shoulders drooped.
    “You might want
to take a gander at the conversation we had on Carter’s mom’s page,” she says,
not even bothering to contain the laughter at this point.
    I’m sure my eyes
are the size of dinner plates as I just stand there staring at her.
    “Oh my God!  I
forgot about that!  I read it again this morning and almost pissed myself!”
Drew chuckles.  "Not on any furniture," he says to me in total
seriousness.
    I regretfully
bring the phone back to me and pull Madelyn Ellis’ Facebook page up.
    At exactly 12:28
a.m. I had posted the following on Madelyn’s page:
    “You are a
gigantic, stinkotic, vaginastic, clitoral, liptistic whore dizzle.”
    Three minutes
later Liz responds with: “ Dude, was this meant for me?  You just posted this
on Carter’s mom’s page. Ha!  You dumb ass!”
    I stare at the
rest of the conversation, ON CARTER’S MOM’S PAGE, and I want to vomit.  His
MOM’S page, people!  I don’t think you understand the level of suck we’re at
right now.
    Claire Morgan:  You
are a furry nut sack on the giant dick of my life.
    Elizabeth Gates: You are the taco to my furry heart.
    Claire Morgan: Where
is your Dumbo-earred vagina?  I can hear it flapping from here.  Are you trying
to fly back to me?
    Elizabeth Gates: My vagina is way nicer than anything you own you drizzly, weighted down orca
of a woman.
    Claire Morgan: Your
vagina is like a burning clown car…this flaming taco with hundreds of screaming
people trying get the fuck out of it.
    Elizabeth Gates: Dumb shit whore.
    Claire Morgan: