“The guy said he didn’t want anything back, can I keep this? It’s a notebook.” Clara held it up. “Sure,” he said, disinterestedly befor... returning to his work. Clara finally left as it got dark, the notebook in her bag as she walked home. Her house was a basic, suburban home that she shared with her father and older brother, Nick, who went to the local community college. Clara’s mom had passed away when she was five, leaving her dad to raise the two siblings. She had had a nice childhood. I politely turned down a black guy who was cute because I didn’t want to call him ‘boy’. He might have thought I was a racist, and I sort of felt bad, but what could I do? We were victims of Political Correctness.Mom and I bought throwaway phones and every time we got asked for our phone number, we’d ask the guy for his and, if he gave his number, call him and save his number when his phone rang in front of us. He had our number and we had his. It was effective, cheap, and it made the guys. More

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