
Matthew Klam Reads “The Other Party”
The New Yorker: The Writer's Voice - New Fiction from The New Yorker
I Cried on the Floor, and I Nudged Her With My Shoe, and She Sat Next to Brendan.
Lily and Rachel had been friends since pre-K. They used chocolate kisses to make tits on snowmen, and sprinkles to make bikinis. Lily thinks she's perfect, Brendan said. People tell her she's hot. Goes to her head, I said. The girls on the team had been vicious, so she'd got used to the insults and laughed them off but she also always cried.
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