DUPL IC I T Y
atop torn fishnets and knee-high buckle boots, like something out of a pirate fantasy. Her long-sleeved shirt might’ve been school legal if the lace in the front didn’t dip so low. I don’t need to look at Beretta to know what she’s wearing. Kid thinks she’s a zombie and bites like one too, and she’s always in something dirt-stained and torn. “Well, well,” Ginger says in her babydoll voice. “Look who’s back in The Corner. Thought you’d switched crowds on us. I can totally picture you in Calvin Klein.” I shoot her a glare and pull my phone back out. Ginger saunters over, darkening my screen with her shadow. “Branching out to corrupt the innocent now, are you?” she says. “Or maybe you’re going soft on us.” My phone buzzes. I tap to open the message and then Ginger’s finger is on my nose, where the metal between my eyes used to be. I grab her hand and squeeze, hard. “Ouch, Brandon, damn!” She pulls away, then raises an eyebrow. “So if you’re not going soft . . . did you do any corrupting while you were gone?” SEE YOU THEN, says the message from my contact. I think about fifty grand, about the ZR1 Corvette I’ve been wanting, and it must bring a smile to my face because Ginger squeals. “No!” she says, hand to her mouth. “You took Emma Jennings’s v-card, didn’t you? Dog!” “What?” Beretta shouts, fingers frozen over her smartphone. “And you haven’t burst into flames yet?” “Ginge, shut up!” I say. “I didn’t take any v-cards. Emma’s just been helping me with Spanish and econ, okay? End of story. Leave me alone.” Her smile softens. “Baby, you haven’t called me Ginge since we broke up.” For once I’d like a girl to exist who didn’t overanalyze 17
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