She was a great old broad. Made him cookies. Noticed when he was younger and alone because his dad was out carousing and would bring him over a plate of food, warm food, good food, with vegetables and everything. Sat with him while he ate and made him eat his vegetables and watch Wheel of Fortune with her and other shit before she’d hear his father’s car in the drive. Then she’d put a finger to her lips, wink, grab his dirty plate, and sneak out the back door.

He’d asked about that flag. She’d said they gave it to her at the funeral after her son died “over there.” She put it up and it stayed up, wind, rain, snow, sun.

She told Carson she was never going to take it down. It would fly out there until she died. She didn’t care how tattered it got. Beaten and worn. Faded.

“He would too, you know, if he’d been able to live his life,” she said. “Age does that to you. All’s I got is that flag, Carson. I didn’t get to watch him be a man. Make his life. Grow old. So I’ll watch that flag do it.”

After she said that to him, Carson thought that flag was maybe the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

So he drew it.

Ten times.

He flipped the page and at what he saw, his throat got tight.

The flag might be the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, but on that page was the most beautiful person he’d ever seen.

Carissa Teodoro. Cheerleader. Dated the quarterback. Long golden brown ringlets the color of honey, warm dark brown eyes, sweet little tits, tiny waist, long legs, heart-shaped ass. He knew. He’d seen it in her cheerleader panties when she flipped around.

The golden girl.

Half of the golden couple.

It was too bad her boyfriend, Aaron Neiland, was a total fucktard.

The guy was good-looking and his dad was loaded so he got it.

But he was still a fucktard.

Carissa wasn’t. She smiled at him in the halls. She smiled at everyone. She was nice. Everyone liked her.

Carson did too. Carson wanted to make her whimper.

He also wanted to make her laugh. Throw her head back and laugh real hard, like he saw her do at lunch sometimes. Or at games. Or in the hall. Or whenever.

She laughed a lot.

He was glad she did.

Pretty girls like her who could be bitches but weren’t deserved to laugh.

He turned the page in a notebook that was filled with drawings. Drawings of things that Carson thought were beautiful. Things that made Carson smile, inside, the only place he let himself do it. Things that gave him a little peace.

And he drew a picture of the goatee guy with his son working on the car.