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Even though I'd promised myself since enduring tom sizemore my devastating little-girl crush on Michael Lahey who everyone knew didn't have a mother and his father drank; Michael Lahey, the king of tom sizemore the brooding boys who wore nothing but jeans and a jeans jacket all year round and he wouldn't even change for gym; Michael Lahey who could hit a tom sizemore baseball over the fence every time and wrote this poem in English class that made me cry--I'd promised myself that never again would I get stuck on a boy like Michael Lahey who I thought needed me but in the end needed me to need him more. Erik was slapping all the pockets in his jeans with his hands. "Got a light?" he said. I reached into my glove compartment and found my old lighter, sparking it up and holding it out to him. He leaned down and lit his cigarette. I didn't know what else to do so I smiled at him. "Got one of those for me?" He took the pack from his pocket and held it out. It was the first time I'd had a cigarette in my hand in five weeks and two days.
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