Sally wasn’t the smartest of girls. She was the dumbest, which given circumstances at home on top of a mandatory fad of thongs and fishnet stalkings, led her to be the sluttiest. She could be found sitting at the tops of school stairs, listening to boys’ exploits with her mouth already hung in the shape of an open-mouth kiss. Her idea of protecting her reputation was to say, in between late-night study room smooches, “This is either the best idea we’ve ever had, or the worst.” It was a trick she’d learned years ago: to give both possible extremes so that it allowed her room to maneuver if things went wrong. No one was dumb enough, though, to fall for this trick. When teachers demanded homework she had not prepared, she’d say, “Wow, well either it was stolen by a stalker who likes to, you know… masturbate to my handwriting, or I just forgot.” She never quite understood why teachers were so stubborn to reason as they marched her to the Dean’s office.