Page 39 of Jesse's Girl

“Just so you never forget…” she says, “what a disappointment you are.”

“Ooh,” Marcus says from behind her, laughing into his fist. “Harsh.”

I look at the ceiling. “Jesus Christ, can we go pick up the fucking pizza now, or what?”

She turns and grabs her purse, and Marcus trails her out the door.

I pause a moment, touching the note stuck to my T-shirt. I smile to myself as I remember the heat of her hand against my chest, then follow them outside.

We collapse onto the assorted living room furniture, which consists of a few folding chairs and a small loveseat, and devour the pizza. I check out the place as we eat. There’s an emptiness to the apartment that’s a bit grim, and I wish I had more to contribute.

“Anyone up for Mario Kart after we eat?” Marcus asks. “Ada has our old Nintendo stuff.”

“Oh, fuck, yeah,” I say. “I haven’t kicked your ass in Mario Kart in years. It’ll feel so good.”

“Not if I kick your ass first,” he replies around a bite of pizza.

Ada drops her crust onto her plate, setting it on the coffee table. “Such confidence from two dickheads who are both gonna lose,” she says with her mouth full, wiping a thumb over the corner of her lips.

I smirk. Ada destroying us in Mario Kart is a fond memory.

She gets up and plods to the TV, crouching down to a low shelf and pulling out the ancient console. Marcus gets the Nintendo set up as I finish my pizza and, when the familiar plinking jingle plays, I’m hit with a flood of childhood memories. I clean my hands on a paper napkin and take the controller Marcus offers me.

“Hey, guys,” Ada deadpans, taking hers from her brother, “when you lose, just make sure to wipe away your tears.” She makes a pouting face at Marcus, then glances at me. “Wouldn’t want your controllers to get all wet.”

Marcus scoffs through a rueful smile. “We’ll see who’s crying in a few minutes, bitches.”

“And so it begins,” I say under my breath. This trash talk takes me back a decade.

The countdown chimes and we get ready to speed off the start line. When the word “Go” flashes on the screen, Ada curses under her breath as her character stutters, slow to take off.

“Hey, Ada, you have to press the A button to go forward,” Marcus taunts from beside me on the small couch.

“Fuck off,” she replies. “You gave me the one with the sticky A button.”

“Only a poor craftsman blames his tools,” I tease.

Out of the corner of my eye, she shakes her head. The slow start has her losing the race; she’s already trailing well behind me and Marcus.

“Oh, Jesse, speaking of tools…” she says.

When she doesn’t finish her sentence, I risk tearing my gaze from the screen for a moment to glance at her.

She’s smiling.

I look back right as a red shell sends my cart spinning into the air. Ada’s character zooms past me.

“What the fuck!” I say, stunned by her distraction tactic. “You dirty cheater.”

I get going again and watch her roundly destroy her brother, hitting us both with a lightning bolt and then running him over as she speeds into first place. She cackles with delight.

“You’re such a piece of shit,” Marcus mutters to her.

I catch up and get in front of Marcus, but Ada’s way ahead now. My only hope is a Hail Mary: a blue shell—the ones that seek out whoever’s in first place. They’re rare, though, and I’m not feeling good about my chances. Marcus and I circle the map trying to make headway but only manage to fuck each other up a few times each, never touching her.

“We’re fucked, dude,” Marcus says. We both stare in disbelief as Ada sails through the finish line.

“What’s up, fuckers!” She throws her controller aside and jumps up with her arms thrust in the air. Grinning at us, she walks to the kitchen.

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