DAY FIVE: I’M GOING TO SEEK HER OUT. SHE HAS WON.
I show up at the smoothie shack right before it closes. The shack is busy: hordes of girls sucking on straws, chattering, slapping their flip-flops against the concrete tiles, $isi’s latest hit blasting on the speakers. Some of the girls are bald; my hands tingle at these false sightings.
She is not behind the counter.
I wait in line, consciously tuning out the conversations around me. The line stalls as usual – some temporary catastrophe has befallen the juicer – then there is a miraculous resurrection and the line coughs and moves forward again.
The ginger-haired boy behind the counter has no idea who Bride is. When I say her name, I realize how dumb of me it was to not ask Bride to see her ID or something to confirm that was indeed h
