“Stevie chewed on her straw and peered up at the stage through her long bangs. “Look at the saliva,” she said. “It's free-flowing.” // “No regrets,” I said. “YOLO, or whatever.” // “Oh, to be loved like that,” said Stevie. “Not.”// This was a last minute New Year’s plan.”Read More
““Yes,” you say. “When you lost the baby.” You angle your chin slightly. Your chin is a question. Don’t you remember, your chin asks. I’ve never known you to hide behind a euphemism like lost the baby before. I didn’t think I had to explain to you the reasons it was not a baby. I press a finger to the cold metal of the dessert fork on my placemat. I flip the fork so it is upside down. I flip it again. Rightsideup. ”Read More
All winter, any time he saw me, Brian would push my head deep into the snowbank, his body pressing against mine, my face buried in the snow, while he whispered, Say you’re a fag. Say it, Lardo. Fat fag.
A new short story by Matthew Walsh in celebration of our upcoming High School issue, with an original illustration by Amelia Garvin.Read More