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He laughs it off. Past the Taco Bell

and the two Shell stations and the rest

of the strip mall nonsense, following

the signs downtown. Probably

there’s a boardwalk. At least

there’ll be sand. Someplace

where I can walk with my sandals

in my hands so that I can’t

physically beat myself up

for the way I just shot Knox down. But

I don’t know how else I could’ve responded

to what he said. Knox had nothing and then lost that too

and here he is, bright and thoughtful, endlessly patient, funny

and kind. Why would a boy like this, good

down to his bones, ever want someone

like me? Why would I assume he’s talking

about taking me on a date? So we’re swimming,

huh, he says when I park at the far end

of the beach lot, Winslow front-leg

bouncing already and I must be

bright red. Get my striped one piece

out and a big white button-down

to cover myself up more because

would a bikini be flirting? If his eyes

catch mine, will they give away

the thing I really want to say—all my Fridays

are free for the foreseeable future

for you—words that might get me

something I don’t deserve, and while Knox

waits outside the van, I change my clothes