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cabin on the cover.
    â€œNothing.”
    â€œNothing is nothing, Gen.” I open the booklet. “An art resort in New Orleans?”
    â€œYeah. It’s a three-week stay out in the woods working on art with zero distractions. I thought it could be a good space for me to maybe finally finish something but . . . ” Genevieve gives me this sad smile and I hate myself.
    â€œBut you couldn’t trust your dumb-idiot boyfriend to be alone.” I hand her the brochure. “I’m done holding you back. If you don’t go, make sure it’s because you want to have sex all summer.”
    Genevieve flings the brochure back on the table. “I should probably make sure it’s worth staying for first, right?” She winks and walks deeper down the hall, vanishing into the living room.
    This apartment was so confusing my first time here that I walked in on her father comparing blueprints for a new mall he’s assisting with. Yeah, he has an office in his apartment, and meanwhile I share a living room with my brother and am limited to masturbating in my bathroom. Life sucks that way.
    The scent of huckleberry grows stronger as I step inside her bedroom. I see the two candles sitting on top of her bureau, the only source of light in a room dark with unfinished paintings and two sixteen-year-olds about to grow up. Her bed is made with deep blue covers. Genevieve looks like she’s sitting in the middle of the ocean. I drop my bag and push the door closed behind me.
    This is it.
    â€œWe don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” Genevieve says. Seems very role-reversal based on all the bad TV I’ve watched, but sweet of her to offer. Or not offer.
    The last time we tried having sex I got sick from movie popcorn. It was some romantic comedy thing—we were on a double date with our classmates Collin and Nicole (who are expecting a kid now, crazy)—but I’m ready to do this. I’m not backing out.
    â€œAre you sure you want to?”
    â€œGet over here, Aaron Soto.”
    I imagine myself tearing my shirt off and charging toward her for awesome sex, but I’m more likely to get tangled in my shirt, tripping over my feet, and making this everything but awesome. So I just walk over, managing not to trip, and sit down beside her, nice and simple. “So. You, uh, come around here often?”
    â€œYes, I come around my house often, dumb-idiot.”
    She hugs my neck and squeezes. I choke for a second, collapse backward on her, and play dead. Genevieve smacks my chest, and between giggles says, “No one suffocates . . . that quickly! You suck . . . at dying! You are the . . . worst dead guy ever!”
    Confidence floods through me in this little moment where I poorly played dead and she called me out on it, and it’s a joke that will remain between us because it happened in our personal space where we were about to do a very personal thing and I know I want this with her without a doubt. I break free from her not-quite-tight grip, slide up on her, and kiss her lips and neck, and everything else I instinctively feel is right. She pulls my shirt off and it sails over my shoulder.
    â€œRemember that time you were half naked in my bed?” Genevieve asks, looking up at me.
    I take off her shirt and leave her in a bra.
    She unzips my jeans and I kick them off with much awkward difficulty while she laughs. If I thought there was any chance Genevieve would’ve laughed seeing me in my boxers, I would’ve faked a reason to get out of this. But I can’t recall a time where I felt more exposed and comfortable in my life. I care for her so hard, whether Dad would’ve advised that for my first time or not, and my happiness and her happiness will be one of my greatest hits.

    4
    MANHUNT ON FAMILY DAY
    I t’s Family Day. While everyone’s setting up outside, I’m manning the counter at Good Food’s because the owner, Mohad, had