Page 6 of Callan

Of course I do. Mathias Bong.He was a heartthrob.

Despite his average looks, no one could hold a candle to him.

He wasn’t only good at math.

He had a way of spinning words, and women his age dug that a lot while we, his female students, obsessed over bad boys who skipped classes and fucked older women, not giving us the time of day.

And we surely stayed away from the nerds, the boys who couldn’t hit a ball or kiss our breaths away to save their lives.

We had a type.

That wasthen.

And now it’s not much different.

But no one gives a shit about our type. It’s 'an all you can grab while it lasts’kind of event now.

Look at me.

I didn’t pay attention, and someone moved—actually grabbed––my cheese, aka Quinn Scott.

Kayla pays more attention to these things, but her boyfriend of two years is not ready for a long-term relationship, so she’s stuck.

It is as if two years is not a long-term commitment already.

Sometimes, it’s them.

Sometimes, it’s us.

Either way, we’re not Olympians like the woman upstairs having sex like it’s anOlympicsport.

And neither are we shopping for nurseries or subscribing to wedding cake catalogs.

I’m not even in the game, being unemployed and all.

I mostly make love to my utility bills and hope for payment plans in return.

“Yeah, yeah. I rememberMr. Hit the Bullseye,” I say.

He was short, bulky, and had a head of unruly hair.

Whenever he set his eyes on a lady, he scored points with her like it was a contest.

“He got married,” she says.

“Him too?”

“Everybody, it seems.”

She chuckles while the shuffling restarts upstairs.

Her smile drops, her mood changing.

“What are they actually doing?”

“I think they’re role playing.”

“Role playing? Is he the lion chasing the gazelle? What kind of role playing is that? It’s like they’re moving the furniture around.”

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