I stood in the Pennsylvania sun wearing my freckles like spots of awkwardness, squinting in the glare next to the keg and holding a red cup of oblivion. She was older with a flowing gingham dress that was transparent in the light. She played with it in one hand. "You know," she said, "If you stand there too much longer, you'll grow roots."
"What?" I asked like I was hard of hearing. And she laughed. Toothy and beautiful.
And I thought, Holy shit. A girl is talking to me.
