As I’d thought back on my teacher’s sarcasm, I’d tried to recall if our bodies touching really had given me a jolt back in 2004. The thought of Angel on top of me in 2017 surely had. Lying naked in my bed, after the sixth-grade gift had been wrapped up all pretty, I’d imagined him inside me. The subsequent arm movement had made Pocket relocate farther down the comforter. When I’d accidentally put my knee on him, spreading my legs to better get to my ass, it had apparently pissed him off even more. Not only had he left the bedroom entirely, he’d also left me a comment outside the litter box I’d discovered first thing the next morning. My Pocket was often passive aggressive, too.
At any rate, if I was recalling things correctly, before the mixer thing in the Home Ec. kitchen when I was fift
