Twenty-Eight
“That’s how he asked you?”
Jed and I are sitting on the kiosk counter, peering out at the semi-dark skate rink. It looks kind of pretty like this, all dim and shadowy, the light from the Coke fridges illuminating the metal rails so they glitter and shine.
My skates are on the counter on either side of me and I have a hand in each. I’m running them idly backwards and forwards on the Laminex surface. I’m in a sombre mood now, thinking of that night when Viggo and I became “Congo” and how, exactly a year later, I royally screwed it up.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “That’s how he asked me.”
“What an absolute prick,” Jed spits.
I turn to him, mouth open. “What? What’s that supposed to mean? It was romantic!”
“It was a business transaction!” Jed cries. “He asked you to be his girlf
