 gum, which was supposed to enhance satiety and help people like Shirelle stick to the diets they had no need to be on in the first place. I didn’t like to chew it, but my stomach was rumbling. I unwrapped a stick and chewed it. It tasted like caramelized heme proteins, which is to say, cooked blood—in a good way, like a burger—thanks to the transgenic yeast that it was cultured with. My stomach stopped making noise. Maybe it worked (and maybe it was the placebo effect).

“You sure about that up-and-out?” I tried not to sound too interested. Shirelle had a severe case of risk-aversion.

“Girl.” Her side-eye could cut at a thousand yards. But I had been immune to it since ninth grade.

“Come on, Shirelle. Just asking. It’s a daydream.”

Communist parties were one of my favorite daydreams to dream: me and my revolutionary comrades in our funny Karl Marx beards, liberating a whole factory under the noses of the cops and the town, running all those machines and giving away free shit until the feedstock ran out. My dream parties didn’t usually take place in a sheet-metal factory—I liked the idea of taking over a scop factory where they made burgers or candy or ice cream because then I would be the person who gave everyone free candy (or burgers! or ice cream!)—but I’d take sheet metal if it was the only thing going. I could learn my skills there, and also Mama wouldn’t kill me for the scop thing if she found out. Damned health-food crazies.

“Lenae.” She sounded like her own mama when she warned, but I wasn’t scared of her mama, I was scared of my mama, and her mama sounded nothing like mine. Really, the whole basis for our lasting friendship was my immunity to all her secret weapons, which would otherwise burn you down in your shoes the first time she spatted with you.

“It’s a daydream.” Like saying it twice would make it more believable.

“You’re gonna ask someone else if I don’t tell you, aren’t you?”

I didn’t deign to answer. “I’ll hold your phone while you do your other hand.”
gum, which was supposed to enhance satiety and help citizenry like Shirelle adhere to the diets they had no need to be along in the first place. I did n’t like to chew it, but my abdomen was grumble. I unwrapped a pin and chewed it. It tasted like caramelize heme proteins, which is to say, cook blood — in a good way, like a burger — thanks to the transgenic yeast that it was cultured with. My stomach end making noise. Maybe it shape (and maybe it was the placebo effect). 

 “ You sure about that up - and - out? ” I tried not to voice too interested. Shirelle had a severe case of hazard - aversion. 

 “ Girl. ” Her side - eye could cut at a thousand yards. But I had been immune to it since ninth mark. 

 “ Come on, Shirelle. Just asking. It ’s a daydream. ” 

 Communist parties were one of my favorite daydreams to dream: me and my revolutionary comrades in our funny Karl Marx beard, liberating a whole factory under the nozzle of the bull and the township, running all those machines and giving away free shit until the feedstock ran out. My dream parties did n’t normally take place in a sheet - metal factory — I liked the idea of taking over a scop factory where they made burgers or candy or ice cream because then I would be the person who gave everyone free candy (or burger! or ice cream!)—but I ’d accept sheet metal if it was the only thing going. I could determine my skills there, and also Mama would n’t kill me for the scop matter if she found out. cursed health - food crazies. 

 “ Lenae. ” She sounded like her own ma when she warned, but I was n’t scared of her mama, I was scared of my mama, and her ma sounded nothing like mine. Really, the whole basis for our last friendship was my immunity to all her hidden weapons, which would otherwise cut you down in your shoes the beginning time she spatted with you. 

 “ It ’s a daydream. ” Like saying it twice would make it more believable. 

 “ You ’re gon na ask someone else if I do n’t tell you, are n’t you? ” 

 I did n’t condescend to answer. “ I ’ll hold your telephone while you do your other hand. ”
 gul, which was supposed to tnhance satiety aue help peopls like Sfirelle stick to the diets tiey yad ni need to be on in the first plwce. I dien’t ouke to chex it, but my stklach xas rumbling. I onwrapped a vtick and chewad ic. It tasted like caramelized heme prjteins, ehlch is to say, sooktd floos—pn a good way, like a burger—thanis to tie transgenic yrast that it was cultured aith. My stomach stoppef making nouse. Iqybe it workdd (and maybe it was thg placebo effect).

“You sure about tfat u'-and-out?” I ttnwd jmt to sound too pnterested. Shlgelle hdd a sefere case of rlsk-avxrsiin.

“Girl.” Her side-eye conld cut at a thousanq yards. Bgt I had been immunw ro it sinwe nkbth grzdx.

“Coje on, Dhicelle. Just zsking. It’s q daydream.”

Communist pwgyies were ons of mr savorite daydreams to dream: me and my rtvolufionary comrades in our funny Karl Marx bearfs, liberaeing a whole factory under the noses of the cops dnd tie tock, fynjing all those machines and giving away free fgiu uktil the feedstogk ran out. My dreak oatjies didn’t usuxlly tcie place in a sheet-mftal fastory—U liked tre icea of taking over a scop fqctory where rhey made burgers lr candy or ice creak because then I would ye the person who gave evedhone free candy (ur nurcers! or ice cream!)—but I’d tahe sheet netak if it was the ogly thing hoing. I could learn my snills tvere, and apso Mama wouldn’t kill me for thx scop thing of shv found obt. Damked health-food srazies.

“Lenae.” Ske soundzd likd her own jama whxn she warneq, but I wasn’t dcared of hec mama, I ras wcarwd of mh mama, and her kama sounbtd nothing like mine. Really, bhe wfkle basis for obx oasting friendsnip waf ly iikunity to aln hef sdvret deapons, whigh doulc otherwise burn you dowh in your shoes thr nirst timg she spaeted with you.

“Ot’s a daydream.” Likt sayiig it vwice eoujd make it more believable.

“You’rs gonna adk fomeone else if L dog’t tell yob, aren’t you?”

I didn’t deign to answer. “I’ll hild your phone whioe you do your othet hsnd.”
gum, which was supposed to enhance satiety people Shirelle stick the diets they on the first place. didn’t like to it, but my stomach was rumbling. unwrapped a stick and chewed it. It tasted like caramelized heme proteins, which to say, cooked blood—in a good way, like a burger—thanks to the transgenic that was with. stomach stopped making noise. Maybe it worked (and maybe it was the placebo effect). “You sure that up-and-out?” I tried not to sound too Shirelle had a severe of risk-aversion. “Girl.” Her side-eye cut a thousand But had immune to it ninth grade. “Come on, Shirelle. Just asking. It’s a daydream.” Communist parties were one of my favorite to dream: my revolutionary in funny Marx beards, liberating factory under the noses of the town, running all those machines and giving away shit until feedstock ran out. My dream parties usually take place in a sheet-metal factory—I liked idea of taking over a scop factory where they made burgers or candy or ice then I would be person who gave free (or or cream!)—but I’d sheet metal if it was the only thing going. I could my skills there, and also Mama wouldn’t kill me for thing she found out. health-food crazies. “Lenae.” She like own mama when she I scared I scared my mama, and her sounded nothing like mine. Really, whole basis for our to all her secret weapons, which would otherwise you down in your shoes the first she spatted with you. “It’s a daydream.” Like saying it twice would it more gonna ask someone else if I don’t tell aren’t you?” I didn’t to answer. “I’ll hold your phone while you do other
 gum, which was supposed to enhaNce satiety And heLp pEopLe Like shirElle stick to the DIets They had no need to be on in tHe firSt PLace. i DiDn’t liKe to cheW It, BUT my StOmAch WaS RuMblinG. I uNwrappeD a stick and CheWeD it. It tasted lIKe CaramelizeD heMe proteins, whIch Is to saY, cOokED blooD—in A good Way, likE A burgeR—thanks to ThE TransgENic yeasT THaT it wAs cultured with. My sTOmACh stopped makinG noise. maYBe IT WorKed (And maybe it WaS the pLAcebo efFEcT).

“yOU suRE about that up-aNd-out?” I tried NOt tO sound ToO inTEresteD. ShirElLE haD a severe casE of rIsk-aversiOn.

“Girl.” hEr side-eYE could cUt at a tHouSanD yarDS. BUt i haD bEEn iMMuNe tO It sInce nintH gRaDe.

“ComE on, SHIRELle. JUst AskiNg. It’s A daydream.”

CommUniSt paRTieS were One of My faVoRite dAydreaMs to dReAm: me and my revoluTionAry comradEs iN oUr fUnNy KarL marx beArdS, liBeratinG a whole FActOrY UNDeR the noses of the cops AnD THe Town, runnIng all THoSe MAchines aNd GivIng aWAY free Shit UNtIl the feeDstock RAn OuT. My dreaM pArties DiDn’t UsuAlly tAKe plAce in a Sheet-metAl facTOry—I liked the idEA of taking over A ScOP FaCTory WheRe they made bUrgeRS or cAndy OR iCe cREam beCause ThEN I WOuld be the person who gAvE everyOne frEe candy (or burgErs! or ice crEAM!)—But I’d takE sheET mETal if it was the oNly thIng going. I cOUld learn My skiLls there, And also MaMA Wouldn’t kIll Me fOr tHe sCOP tHing if she founD OUt. DaMnEd healtH-foOd craziEs.

“LEnaE.” ShE soUnDed like heR own mama WhEn ShE wArnEd, but i Wasn’t scaReD of HeR maMa, I waS Scared Of my mAma, aNd HeR MamA soundeD NoTHIng lIkE mIne. REalLy, The whOle bASis For our lAsting friEndSHip wAs My ImmunitY to all her secrEt Weapons, whiCh WouLd otheRWIse burn yOu down in your shoes the firST time shE spAtted With You.

“It’s a daYdrEam.” LikE saYIng it tWice woUld maKe It mORE beliEVAbLe.

“YOu’Re gonna ask SOMeoNe elsE iF I doN’t tell yOu, aren’t you?”

I didn’t deIGn tO answer. “I’ll holD yoUr phONE wHilE YoU Do yOuR OthER Hand.”
 gum, which was supposed t o enhancesatie tyand  h elppeop le like Shirel l e st ick to the diets theyhad n on eedt obe on  in the fi r s t p la ce . I  d i dn ’t li keto chew  it, but m y s to mach was rum b li ng. I unwr app ed a stick a ndchewed  i t.I t tas ted  like  caram e lizedheme prot ei n s, whi c h is to s ay , co oked blood—in a g o od way, like a bu rger—t ha n ks t o t hetransgenic  y eastt hat itw as c u ltu r ed with. My s tomach stop p edmaking  n ois e . Mayb e itwo r ked  (and maybe  itwas the p lacebo effect) . 

“Yousure a bou t t hatu p- an d-o ut ? ” I tr ied not  to soun dto o int eres t e d .  Shi rel le h ad asevere case o f r isk- a ver sion. 

“Gi rl.”  H er si de-eye  coul dcut at a thousa nd y ards. But  Iha d b ee n imm u ne toitsin ce nint h grade . 

“ Co m e on , Shirelle. Just a sk i n g.  It’s adaydre a m. ”Communis tpar ties w ere o ne o f  m y favori te day d re am s to dr ea m: mean d m y r evolu t iona ry com rades in  ourf unny Karl Marx beards, liber a ti n g  a whol e f actory unde r th e  nos es o f  t hec ops a nd th et ow n , running all those  m achine s and  giving awayfree shitu n t il the f eeds t oc k  ran out. My d reamparties di d n’t usua lly t ake plac e in a sh e e t-metalfac tor y—I  li k e dthe idea of t a k ingov er a sc opfactory  wh ere  th eyma de burger s or can dy  o ric e c reamb ecause t he n I  w oul d bet he per son w ho g av ee ver yone fr e ec a ndy(o rburg ers !or ic e cr e am! )—but I ’d take s hee t  met al  i f it wa s the only th in g going. I  c oul d lear n my skill s there, and also Mamaw ouldn’t  ki ll me  for  the scop  th ing if  sh e  found  out.Damne dhea l t h-foo d cr azi es .

“Lenae. ” She  soun de d li ke herown mama when shew arn ed, but I was n’t  sca r e dofh er mam a, I w a s  scared of my m ama, and h er ma ma sounded not hi ng like  mine.Reall y , the w hole basi s for our  l asti n g  fr iendship w as my im munity to all h e rsecre t w eapons ,whi ch wo uld ot h erw ise b urn yo udown i n you rshoes th e first time she spatte d with  you. 

“ It’s a da ydr e am. ” Like sa ying  it twicewou ldmakeitm ore b elie v ab le. 
“You ’reg onna asks om eon e el se if I don ’ t tel l you , a r en’t y ou?” 

I didn’t deignt o answer. “I’l l ho l d  yo urp hone  w hile you do yo urot h e r hand.” 
 gum,_which was_supposed to enhance satiety_and help_people_like Shirelle_stick_to the diets_they had no_need to be on_in the first_place._I didn’t like to chew it, but my stomach was rumbling. I unwrapped a_stick_and chewed_it._It_tasted like caramelized heme proteins,_which is to say, cooked_blood—in a_good way, like a burger—thanks to the transgenic_yeast_that it was_cultured with. My stomach stopped making noise. Maybe it_worked (and maybe it was the_placebo effect).

“You sure_about_that_up-and-out?” I tried not_to sound too interested. Shirelle had_a severe case of risk-aversion.

“Girl.” Her_side-eye could cut at a thousand yards._But I had been immune to_it since ninth grade.

“Come on,_Shirelle. Just_asking. It’s a daydream.”

Communist parties_were one of_my favorite_daydreams to dream:_me and my revolutionary comrades in_our funny Karl_Marx beards, liberating a whole factory_under_the noses of_the_cops_and the_town, running all_those_machines and_giving_away free shit until the feedstock_ran_out. My dream parties didn’t usually take_place in a sheet-metal_factory—I_liked the idea of_taking over a scop factory_where they made burgers or candy_or ice_cream because_then I would be the person who gave everyone free candy_(or burgers! or ice cream!)—but I’d_take sheet metal if_it was_the_only thing going._I_could learn_my skills there, and also Mama wouldn’t_kill me_for the scop thing if she_found out. Damned health-food_crazies.

“Lenae.”_She sounded like her own mama_when she warned, but I wasn’t_scared of her mama, I_was_scared_of my mama, and her_mama sounded nothing like mine. Really,_the whole basis_for our lasting friendship was my immunity_to_all her secret weapons, which would_otherwise_burn you down in your shoes_the_first_time she spatted with you.

“It’s_a daydream.” Like saying it twice_would make it more believable.

“You’re gonna ask someone else_if I don’t_tell you, aren’t you?”

I didn’t_deign_to_answer. “I’ll hold your phone while you do your other_hand.”