“You let your hair grow out. Is mine—” he limply raised his left arm up, and let his hand flop down on his scalp “—need to have Veronica/Rabiah cut it…or you do it—”
Shaking her head, she mouthed Nope, before rolling up the bottom of her tee shirt, the faded black one with the phrase—“What part of the quantum theory don’t you understand?”—printed in flaking electric blue letters across the front, and exposing her taut midriff, which now bore the inch-high lettered inked inscription:
Nope
He blearily stared at her new tattoo, mouthing the Latin silently, until he was able to translate in a breathy whisper, “‘If you can read this, you’re overeducated’…I never thought it was funny when the Jansurs still had the tee shirt it was printed on—”
“I did.”
“But you said you didn’t—”
“I guess I
