[ She says it so simply. Sometimes, Billy mistakenly thinks of Jem as... a girl. That girl in Hawkins, with ripped jean shorts and a cut-off, playing hooky with him and swapping cigarettes. His hand finds hers, finger pads toying with her skin, running over her knuckles. He thinks about her zombie problem, of dead, rotting bodies and a girl standing over them with a shiny Colt.
He also can't wrap his mind around... Neil would've skinned him if he'd come up with a bong after doing one of his random shitty ass inspections. The Hustlers were fine, the skimpy posters of tits. The other things weren't: the stray grams of weed, the cologne his old man liked to call perfume, the tinted ChapStick he swore a girl left in his car. ]
You did it with these, [ he says, hand drawing up to pinch at her bicep. ] How many reps you do with that bong, babygirl? [ He pictures her, head swimming, the bong as tall as he was. ]
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He also can't wrap his mind around... Neil would've skinned him if he'd come up with a bong after doing one of his random shitty ass inspections. The Hustlers were fine, the skimpy posters of tits. The other things weren't: the stray grams of weed, the cologne his old man liked to call perfume, the tinted ChapStick he swore a girl left in his car. ]
You did it with these, [ he says, hand drawing up to pinch at her bicep. ] How many reps you do with that bong, babygirl? [ He pictures her, head swimming, the bong as tall as he was. ]