Free Dumplin' by Julie Murphy

nose. Reaching beneath his seat, he pulls out a red gift bag creased with use and drops it onto the dashboard. “Happy birthday.”
    My birthday was three days ago. I didn’t tell anyone at work. Not because I didn’t want people to know, but because telling people (mainly Bo) meant that there was pressure for them to do something for me. And that’s not how Bo and I have worked. There are no strings. No responsibilities. “How’d you find out?”
    He shrugged. “Heard Ron tell you happy birthday.”
    â€œCan I open it?”
    â€œNo,” he says. “That’s your gift. That bag is all you get.”
    Rolling my eyes, I yank the bag from the dash. My stomach is in a hissy fit of nerves. The weight of the bag sinks into my lap. One small bag to fit an entire summer history.
    He clears his throat. “I didn’t have any tissue paper.”
    His stare heats my skin. I close my eyes and pull a random item from the bag.
    â€œA Magic 8 Ball,” he says.
    A smile spreads across my face. I feel silly. “Well, I’ll never feel the burden of decision again.”
    â€œKeep going,” he says.
    So I do. A metal Slinky, Silly Putty poppers, and a bag of saltwater taffy.
    Bo blows bubbles into the Silly Putty and uses it to strip the ink from his owner’s manual while I weigh the Slinky, letting it slide back and forth in my hands, like Jake.
    â€œThank you,” I say. “You totally didn’t have to get me anything.”
    He shrugs and scans the spread of items between us. “You forgot something.” He reaches for the bag. “Closeyour eyes.”
    I do.
    I feel his hands against my cheek as he slides a pair of glasses over my nose. My hair catches in a hinge, but he’s careful to be sure the glasses are tucked over my ears.
    â€œOkay,” he says. “Open.”
    He slaps the rearview mirror in my direction and I see a bright red pair of heart-shaped glasses. The lenses are dark and tinted and it takes a moment for my eyes to recognize myself. I pull my hair from where it’s caught.
    They’re supposed to be funny. I get that. But I love them. They’re transformative. In the mirror, I see a girl I don’t think I’ve ever met. “They’re great,” I say and immediately feel silly. They’re cheap dollar-store glasses. Something he probably threw into his basket as an afterthought.
    His body leans into me as he presses his lips against mine. My entire body softens against his weight.
    â€œYou should go home,” he whispers between kisses.
    I nod. We keep on kissing.
    I stay in the parking lot with Bo for far too long, but am lucky to find that my mom is dead asleep with her door closed when I get home. All summer I’ve made up reasons and excuses for why I’ve had to “work” later than normal. She’s not too pleased by any of it, but never questions me. Plus, she’s been sewing banners, interviewing new judges, and finding sponsors for the pageant, which means she’s checked out of parenthood completely for a few months.
    Lucy’s door is closed, like it has been for the last twomonths. I brush the door handle as I walk by, but don’t open it. Ever since that day my mom started cleaning out her room, and we got into an argument, she’s let it sit, like she’s forgotten about it. I don’t ever bring it up for fear that she’ll pick up right where she left off.
    As I’m falling asleep, my phone buzzes.
    ELLEN: liar
    Shit
. She knows. I mean, it’s not like she hasn’t been keeping secrets from me, too. I can’t hear her talk about Tim without remembering what Callie said that night in Harpy’s about their “oral mishap.” I know it was something small and that in the long run, it’s nothing, but I can’t help but wonder what else she’s not telling me. Now, I’m her virgin friend who doesn’t get