His name's nash.'
Aunt val took a butter knife fom the silverware drawer. 'What year is he?'
I groaned inwardly. 'Senior.' here we go....
Her smile was a little too enthusiastic. 'Well, that's wonderful!'
Of course, what she really meant was 'Rise from the shadows, social leper, and walk in the bright light of acceptance!' Or some crap like that. Because my aunt and over pivileged cousin only recognise two states of being: glitter and grunge. And if you weren't glitter, well, that only left one other option...

Autore: Rachel Vincent