“I didn’t really know him,” Verry says. “He was in my orientation group.”
“Doesn’t matter.” Pan looks five years older than he did a year ago. “There are maybe ten people here who believe–I mean, why a memorial?” He sighs. “The guy’s been dead six months, we graduated a year and a half ago…”
“But it’s so crowded!”
“Heh. That’s what I’m saying.” Pan pulls at his napkin. “We’re here to get lai–I shouldn’t make that inclusive. But.”
Verry sips again without actually drinking. She admits, privately, that she wouldn’t have come without losing that ten off her thighs.
“I’m having flashbacks.”
“Sorry. Just a second–”
Pause.
“I’m having ninth grade flashbacks.”
“Late bloomer?”
“Not as late as you, apparently–”
“Shut up.”
“I know you don’t really need it, but you’ve worn one of these before. Right? Ever?”
“Shut up, Rose!”
“You’re wearing one now.”
“Shut up! It’s backwards to me, I have trouble–”
“It’s not backwards.”
“Yes it is.”
“Not to you.”
“Yes, because–”
“Imagine like you’re putting it on around your tummy, okay? Before you turn it around and hook the straps over your shoulders.”
“Is that how you do it?”
“Is that not how you do it?”