Everything Fails. T Van Santana

little eye contact with me, nor I with him. I just walked on by, and he just let me.

      “I kind of want to fuck him,” Wendy said to me.

      “Gross! Really?”

      She laughed and didn’t say. “Wanna go to Von Brandt?”

      I nodded. “Cool.”

      Von Brandt was a park. We were forever fucking hanging around in parks. Why? Free. Open to the public. Poorly supervised. That kind of thing.

      We cut through a res zone on the way.

      I looked around. “Doesn’t your mom live around here?”

      “Bitch.” That’s all Wendy said. I wasn’t sure if she meant me or her mom, but either way, she didn’t want to talk about it.

      We reached the park, and it’s like the fucking Summerland. The feeling’s hard to articulate. But I felt it, rich and free and expansive, and I saw Wendy felt it too.

      “I so fucking hate school,” Wendy said.

      “Yeah. Me too.” And, boy, did I.

      We found a secluded area with a park bench. Wendy threw her canteen down and stripped off her cleats and socks.

      “Fuck, those smell!” she said, waving her hand. “Sorry, sweetie.”

      I honestly didn’t give a shit. “It’s cool.”

      Wendy sat on the tabletop and flexed her short little toes. She patted a spot next to her. You know, like you would for a dog. And like a good little doggie, I hopped right up there next to her.

      “So. What have you been up to?” She smiled, lowered her head, and said, “No good?”

      Truth was, my life was pretty fucking boring. But I didn’t want to say that. Can’t be boring with Wendy. So I said, “Well, you know me.”

      She scratched at my arm lightly. “Yeah, I do, kitten. You’re a bad one.”

      Wendy sucked on her cigarette, making the coal hot at the end, and her lips tight around the base of it.

      “How about you?” I asked.

      Wendy shrugged, blew the smoke out through her nose, said, “Nothin’ fun. Dad’s had me on house arrest.”

      “Like, literally?”

      She flicked some ash. “May as well be, right? Bull that he is.”

      It’s true, I supposed. “That’s true. I mean, I guess.”

      I let her relax for a minute and did the same, while trying to get around to asking her about Plum.

      Wendy leaned her head back and grabbed her neck, cigarette pointing to the sky. “Aw, my neck.”

      “Does it hurt?”

      “Fuck yeah,” she said. “Rub it for me?”

      “Sure.” I scooted in closer.

      I got the familiar smell of her. Even under all the smoke, I could still pick out the notes all Wendy.

      “So you know my friend Plum, right?”

      “Big lips?”

      “I guess.”

      “Long legs?”

      “Yeah,” I said. “You know, we hang out on the quad all the fuckin’ time?”

      “Yeah, I think I know who you mean. We have art together.”

      “Yeah, that’s the one.”

      “Oh, that feels so good,” Wendy said, letting smoke crawl over and down her lips. “Don’t stop.”

      I didn’t.

      Wendy’s eyes went wide at the edges, narrow in the middles. “What are you sniffin’ for, sweets?”

      I felt the blush response. I didn’t really want to blush, but I guess my body did, so I did. “Uh, well, it’s fucking Plum …”

      Wendy smiled, curious and interested. “You’re fucking Plum, huh? I’d pay to see that.”

      “No, no! Not me and Plum …”

      “Aw. Too bad.”

      I wasn’t sure if she’s fucking around or not, so I just went ahead with the damn note. “They said to give you this.”

      Wendy looked at it, then at me. “What the fuck is that?”

      “It’s a note.”

      “What’s a note?”

      “You know, like a love note.”

      Wendy’s face lit up. “Get the fuck outta here! Like a love letter?”

      I nodded. “Yeah. Somethin’ like that. But, you know, written on shittier paper and folded all weird.”

      Wendy didn’t care. She snatched it from my hand and started trying to open it. “How do you open this motherfucker?”

      I shrugged. “I have no idea. I got the impression Plum didn’t want me to read it, so I didn’t.” Truth was, I couldn’t figure out how to unfold it in such a way as I could refold it. So I’d said fuck it.

      Wendy got it, unfolded it, and started to read. She held it, the paper flapping in the breeze, the smoke between her fingers still burning, some strands of hair whipping across her face. She’d intermittently brush the hair away, take a puff, and straighten out the paper.

      I sat patiently as I could, smoking. I finally asked, “Anything good?”

      “It’s sweet,” she said, still reading.

      I nodded. “Yeah, well Plum’s a sweet one.”

      “What does auric mean?” Wendy asked.

      “Well it can mean a few different things, but Plum probably intends for it to mean golden.”

      Wendy nodded, kept reading.

      “Pull … um … this word.” Wendy dipped the paper and pointed to the word.

      “Pulchritude. Means beauty.”

      Wendy’s brow furrowed. “Why didn’t they just say beauty, then?”

      I shrugged. “Plum’s dramatic.”

      Wendy eyes stayed on me for a moment, then she resumed reading.

      I flicked away my smoke, sat with my arms folded and legs stretched out. I tried to enjoy the sun on my face.

      The rustle of the paper drew my attention back.

      “I can’t refold this thing …”

      “It’s your note now. Fold it however you want.”

      “True.” Wendy folded it in half, then quarters, then eighths, then shoved it in her leather jacket. “Whatever.”

      I smiled, noticed her cig’s burned down. “Wanna another smoke?”

      “You know it.”

      I popped one out for her. She wrapped her lips around it, her hands on my hands. “Light me up.” It waggled in her mouth as she said it.

      I did as she asked.

      She took her time to form a good cherry, then pulled it out of my reach. She made it glow bright, then blew smoke all over me.

      I bathed in the sensual pleasure from her smoke, then lit my own.

      “So?” I asked.

      “So, what?”

      “So what about Plum’s letter?”

      “I told you … it’s sweet.”

      I