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At the ripe age of six, watching her brothers fling boogers at each other from across the kitchen table, Mandy decides that boys are stupid. Stupid, gross and annoying. Well, at least boys she shares a last name with. She’s just started first grade, and there’s this one boy who is kind of cool because he can do a handstand, and Mandy’s never met anyone who can do a handstand. Whatever. The rest of the boys are definitely stupid.
They’re especially stupid when it comes to girls, she discovers over the years, starting with Colin proudly telling her about spitting exceptionally far at recess to impress a girl in his class.
Mandy wrinkles her nose at the story. She can’t imagine any girl being impressed by that, ever.
She can’t really blame her brothers for being stupid, though. They’ve never had anyone to tell them about girls, just like Mandy’s never had anyone to tell her about boys. She wouldn’t dare to ask their father, and their mother, when she’s around, doesn’t do much.
She doesn’t tell Mandy to put more effort into her homework, doesn’t try to convince her that she’s got as much brains as her friends do, doesn’t remind her that there are other ways to feel good about yourself than getting attention from boys. Mom does nothing when Terry cracks Colin across the face when he’s drunk and angry, barely blinks when Mickey trips down the stairs and hits his face so hard his teeth nearly come through his bottom lip.
As she grows up, Mandy spends a lot of time angry at her. Angry for not doing more, for not protecting them. For not protecting her the way a mother is supposed to protect a daughter, for leaving her all alone in a world full of stupid boys.
Despite all that, there is one discernible memory of their mother that even Mandy treasures, one of the only times she acted like a real parent. It’s during one of Terry’s longer stints of incarceration, and even at six years old, Mandy has some idea of why Mom smiles more, spends less time staring blankly at a wall. Now she’s on her feet and wants to take her kids out to the park for ice cream. It’s not exactly summer yet, a little cold outside despite the sunshine, but the occasion is special enough that none of them complain. Not even Colin and Iggy are old enough to pretend not to care about going.
The actual part of getting to eat ice cream obviously overshadows the rest of the day, but Mandy has a vivid memory of being in the kitchen, sunlight filtering through the film of dust on the window, the sink clear of dishes for once, another perk of Mom being lucid and functioning.
Mandy’s sitting on a chair, swinging her legs back and forth, watching Mom trying to scrub the dirt off Mickey’s face with a kitchen towel. Mickey’s squirming in her grip, making ugly faces at the piece of cloth being shoved towards him.
“Stay still”, their mother chides, dragging the towel across Mickey’s forehead hard enough for it to look painful. “We can’t go anywhere with you looking like you live in a sewer.”
“I don’t care”, Mickey snarls, tries to turn his head away. “What’s it matter what I look like?”
“It matters”, she insists. Mandy thinks it’s a little weird, because they don’t even have running water all the time, and it’s never mattered before. Getting ice cream must be really important for her. “You need to learn to clean up. Have you ever seen a grown man look this dirty?”
In Mandy’s opinion, Dad looks at least as dirty most of the time, but she can’t say that out loud. Mickey’s probably thinking of the same thing. He doesn’t voice it either, only grumbles something angry and unintelligible.
“How will you ever get a girlfriend with your face all covered in grime like that? No girl likes filthy boys, Mikhailo.”
“Good”, Mickey says venomously. “Girls are gross anyway.”
“You’re gross-er”, Mandy chimes in from her chair, because hey, she’s a girl too.
Mickey glares at her. “Shut up.”
“Don’t talk to your sister like that”, Mom says distractedly, easing up with the scrubbing a bit. There are red, irritated spots on Mickey’s face but the splotches of mud and who knows what else are maybe a little fainter. “You’ll change your mind about that. Someday you’ll meet a nice girl, and you’ll want to look your best for her.”
“I won’t”, Mickey says with finality. “I’ll be dirty forever to keep them away.”
“Then you won’t ever get to marry anyone, either”, Mandy points out, because surely that’s something to consider.
“I know”, Mickey says it like Mandy’s slow or something. He does that sometimes, because he knows it never fails to get a rise out of her. “I don’t want to marry any dumb girl. You’re all too annoying.”
Mandy argues, of course, because Mickey’s clearly the one that’s dumb and annoying and doesn’t understand anything. Their mother sighs, exasperated, and goes to find the rest of the Milkovich siblings.
Most of the conversation is eventually forgotten. But even when she gets an ice cream cone in her hand Mandy thinks, a little vexed and a little smug, that she’s been right about her brothers. And that Mickey must be extra stupid when it comes to girls.
One of the first things Mandy learns at school is that her family is somewhat known for getting in trouble. Colin and Iggy have worked hard to spread their reputation around the neighborhood, and even Mickey, only two years older than Mandy, is already the cause of many of his classmates’ black eyes and teachers’ headaches.
Mandy gets in trouble, too. Her favorite pastime isn’t punching things, so she doesn’t go around picking fights like her brothers, but she finds out soon enough that even if you aren’t looking for trouble, trouble will find you eventually.
In third grade, some girl at least a year older than her loudly makes fun of her shoes. Mandy knows her sneakers are old and dirty and ugly, hand-me-downs from Iggy, way too big for her feet. She knows they couldn’t afford new ones this year, and hearing someone else point that out makes her flush with anger and embarrassment. She ends up tearing a handful of hair out of the other girl’s ugly blonde head, because while Mandy doesn’t like fighting, she’s as much of a Milkovich as her brothers, and nobody gets to walk all over her.
And whatever occasional fighting she does, it’s nothing compared to how often Mickey sits in detention or gets sent home with angry notes from teachers – that is, before they realize that no one at home even bothers to read them.
Today is no exception. Mickey’s done something that warrants Dad to pick him up from school, have a face-to-face conversation with some teacher. Dad’s not pleased about it, and Mandy already knows to stay out of his way for the rest of the night.
Mickey’s also in a sour mood when they come home, Dad’s huge hand clenched tight around his skinny arm. He skulks straight into his bedroom, and Mandy follows him as soon as Terry is out of earshot.
Mandy’s sort of curious to hear what it is her brother’s done this time. It might be a big deal if the school went through the trouble of calling home about it. Or maybe they’re just really fed up with Mickey. Sometimes the things he gets in trouble for are pretty funny, like two summers ago, when he got kicked off the baseball team for pulling down his pants and taking a leak right in the middle of the game.
“What’d you want?” Mickey asks her sullenly when Mandy comes in. He’s sitting on the bed, couple of scrapes across his left cheek and red marks just above his elbow from Dad’s vicelike grip, but otherwise looking okay.
He’s clearly mad about having Dad involved today. Mandy’s used to him being moody, and she climbs on the bed next to Mickey.
“Why’d you get in trouble?”
Mickey shakes his head. “Bullshit. Doesn’t matter.”
Mandy shoves him. “Tell me. Did you fight someone?”
“Tell me why you’re so annoying”, Mickey says and shoves her back.
At this point, Mandy knows better than to rise to the bait. “Did you win?”
Mickey rolls his eyes in a way that translates to of course I did. Mickey usually does, mostly because he isn’t afraid to fight dirty.
“Well?” Mandy presses impatiently.
“Well what?”
It’s Mandy’s turn to roll her eyes, frustrated. She can barely stop herself from shoving Mickey right off the bed.
“Why were you fighting?”
Mickey shrugs one shoulder, scrapes a fingernail over the cuts on his face. “Dunno. Didn’t even start it. The prick was trying to act tough with me, defending his stupid girlfriend or something. Had to show him.”
Mandy’s eyes go wide. “Did you hit a girl? You can’t hit girls!”
“I didn’t hit any girl”, Mickey looks offended. “She was being all whiny and talking about shit that’s not her business, and I called her a bitch. Her boyfriend got in my face, so I got into it with him.”
He says “boyfriend” like its’s a dirty word, face twisting in anger again. Usually people stick to saying things behind their backs, especially when it comes to Mickey, because everyone knows how that ends. Still, Mandy has no idea what some girl could’ve done to provoke him. Mickey doesn’t fight with girls. Mickey doesn’t even talk to girls, even though he’s only a couple of years younger than Colin and Iggy. Mandy’s caught both of them making out on the couch with a girl at least once. Not Mickey, though.
That’s when it clicks.
“Oh”, Mandy says, a big grin taking over her face. “Ohhhh.”
Mickey’s frown turns confused. “What’s your problem?”
“It means you like someone”, Mandy says victoriously. “When you’re mean without a reason it means you like someone!”
“What? No, it doesn’t!”
“Yeah it does!” Mandy laughs. She never gets to tease her brother about anything, and now she’s found the perfect thing. “You got into a fight today ‘cause you like someone!”
Mickey flushes furiously, a look of pure panic on his face, which in Mandy’s mind only confirms her suspicions. She was right! Her brother has no idea what to do around girls, so he calls them rude names instead.
“Shut up”, Mickey growls, voice tight. “No, I don’t- You don’t know anything.”
“I know more than you”, Mandy taunts him. “I know you have a crush on some girl.”
Mickey freezes momentarily, just goes still and stops breathing. It’s a small moment, barely there, and it ends with a rough exhale.
“I don’t”, he says then, but it’s a bit softer. He isn’t looking at Mandy anymore. “She was just pissing me off.”
“Uh-huh”, she says, disbelieving. “That’s not how you get a girlfriend.”
“What?”
“That’s not how you get a girl to like you back”, Mandy explains. “You have to be nice.”
Mickey rolls his eyes. “Whatever.”
“And you have to apologize for being mean to her.”
“Mandy. I don’t care.”
Mandy huffs. “Fine.”
She jumps down from the bed, letting her feet stomp on the floor, glares at Mickey before stalking to her own room. She’s just trying to help. If Mickey doesn’t want her advice, then fine. He can stay girlfriend-less for all eternity, for all Mandy cares.
It’s one of those middle-school parties that aren’t really parties, only a bunch of kids hanging out in the classroom with the desks pushed against the walls, drinking soda and eating popcorn while music plays in the background in a too-low volume.
To Mandy, the whole thing started to feel stupid from the moment Colin let her have her first sip of beer one night when they were hanging out on the couch. It’d been warm and tasted like piss, but it had made her feel sort of cool, more like an adult.
So normally, she doesn’t give a shit about middle-school parties, but this one feels important. Maybe it’s because she’s just turned thirteen, which means she’s officially a teenager, and she loves feeling like one; likes how grown up she looks in black eyeliner, how confident she feels putting on a nice skirt even when it’s snowing and her legs are freezing.
The whole dating thing has also started feeling like a big deal in the last couple of years. Mandy’s kissed boys before, but she hasn’t actually dated anyone like most of her friends are starting to do, and maybe she’s feeling a little left behind.
His name is Noah, and he has brown eyes and curls that fall over his forehead. He can play guitar, and he smiles at Mandy when she asks for a pencil in class. It gives Mandy butterflies, and she feels so uncool, much less like a teenager and more like a little kid when she thinks about him.
That might be why tonight is so important.
Mandy straightens her hair, stomach turning with nerves, examines herself in the mirror. She looks pretty much like she does every day. Suddenly it doesn’t feel good enough. She’s regular, boring, in danger of disappearing into the crowd. She throws the straightening iron onto the bathroom counter angrily and stalks into the living room to find Mickey slumped on the couch, watching cartoons on the tv.
Mickey doesn’t even glance in her direction, and Mandy kicks his leg, hard. “Hey, douchebag.”
“Ow, fuck”, Mickey snaps, rubbing his thigh. “What?”
Mandy just glares. Shit, this is embarrassing. Maybe she should just keep her mouth shut and not give Mickey another reason to be an ass.
“What the fuck d’you want?” Mickey asks impatiently.
Mandy swallows her pride. Here goes nothing. “I need to ask you something.”
Mickey makes a gesture that clearly indicates well, get to it.
“We have this party at school tonight”, Mandy begins, picking at a loose thread at the bottom of her t-shirt.
Mickey snorts. “Yeah, a little kids’ party.”
Mandy kicks him again, even harder this time, then steps back when Mickey tries to retaliate. “Shut up, I’m trying to ask you a question. And if you make fun of me, I’ll strangle you to death.”
“Fuck, okay, okay.”
“So”, Mandy tries again. “There’s one guy who I wanna hang out with tonight, and I wanna, like. Look nice, I guess.”
Mickey stares, confused. “What’s the question here?”
Frustrated and embarrassed, Mandy throws herself down on the couch next to her brother, making the springs creak. “You’re a guy! So you know what guys like about girls! Like what’s the thing you notice first? Is it boobs?”
Mickey makes a disgusted face. “Jesus, Mandy, I don’t know. I don’t wanna talk about that with my sister.”
“You don’t have to go into details!”
Mickey shrugs, turns back to the tv with his brows furrowed. He looks almost as embarrassed as Mandy feels. “Guess I like the same shit everyone else does.”
Mandy shoves him, not too hard because if she pisses Mickey off too badly, she’ll never get an answer. She’d forgotten how dumb Mickey was with this crap. “Come on, give me something better than that.”
“Why don’t you go ask Iggy? Or Colin?”
Yeah, right. What a conversation that’d be. “Because their brains are even smaller than yours.”
“Look, don’t-” Mickey sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Don’t worry about it, all guys are the same, basically. You dress the same as every other girl in your grade all the time, so what’s the point of changing something for one night for some dude?”
It’s… surprisingly insightful. Maybe it would be weird if Mandy did something completely different tonight, and then went back to her skirts and eyeliner. It’d be like pretending, right?
“I guess”, Mandy says after a moment.
“See, I’m fucking right”, Mickey says, satisfied with himself. “Go dressed as a raccoon like you do every day, you’ll be fine. And if the dude’s a dick, tell me and I’ll knock his teeth out.”
Ha. As if she needs her brother to fight some punk with a guitar for her. “I’ll knock his teeth out myself.”
“I know.”
“But you seriously can’t name one thing you like in a girl? Don’t try to tell me it’s about personality, ‘cause I’ve seen the girls you date.”
“Shut up”, Mickey says, mouth quirking slightly at the jab. There is something serious, almost defeated, underneath it.
It’s funny, Mandy guesses. Sometimes Mickey manages to prove he’s not a complete idiot, but she’ll never understand how he seems to be doing well enough with girls when he has no idea what he even finds attractive about them. He just doesn’t seem to care. If Iggy and Colin don’t start a conversation about their crazy, sexual adventures, Mickey never even talks about any of the girls he’s been with.
Maybe Mandy just isn’t giving him enough credit.
It’s nearly two in the afternoon when Mandy stumbles out of her bedroom, bleary and hungover as fuck. She trudges through the sea of empty bottles and crumpled bags of chips and God knows what else, making her way to the kitchen.
Iggy’s not in any better shape, sitting at the table with his head in his hands, a cup of coffee slowly going cold in front of him.
Mandy jostles his chair on her way in just to be an asshole. The pained groan Iggy lets out makes her feel a little better about feeling, and probably looking, like death warmed over. She hasn’t had the courage to face a mirror yet.
“Morning, dickface.”
“Fuck off”, Iggy mumbles, forehead falling against the tabletop.
Because she’s not a complete asshole, Mandy throws a packet of bacon onto a pan, knowing it’s just about the only food her brother can stomach after a party like that. The clanging of pots and pans, or maybe the smell of greasy meat, rouses Mickey from the couch where he apparently passed out last night.
He looks less hungover and more like he’s just in a bad mood when he rips the fridge door open to get the OJ, then slams it closed. He takes a swig right from the carton and stalks out of the kitchen. A few seconds later, a bedroom door bangs shut.
“What crawled up his ass?” Mandy mutters, setting down a plate of bacon. It makes Iggy perk up immediately.
“Who knows”, he says, picking up a strip with his bare fingers. “I’d be a little more cheery if I got laid last night.”
Mandy’s eyebrows climb up. “He did? He was wasted, last I saw him.”
Iggy nods, mouth full of bacon. His cheeks are already streaked with grease. “Saw him disappearing with some chick at some point. Was exactly his type, too.”
“What’s Mickey’s type?”
“Trashy?”
Mandy snickers. That sounds about right. Like Angie Zago, who’s famous around the neighborhood for fucking anybody. It’s a downright miracle Mickey hasn’t caught some disease yet. Mandy suspects he could hook up with someone that hasn’t gone through half the South Side already if he took a shower every once in a while. He’s not any uglier than Iggy, but he somehow seems to be putting in even less effort.
“You didn’t get laid”, Mandy bumps Iggy’s shoulder. “Know how I know? You’d be bragging about it already.”
“Mickey’s not bragging about it.”
Mandy pours herself a cup of coffee, settles against the counter to sip it. Her stomach can’t take any solid food yet. “Maybe he’s just letting us think he's getting laid. Maybe he’s actually a virgin.”
Iggy laughs and rolls his eyes. “That’s likely. You seen a Milkovich over the age of fourteen who’s still a virgin?”
It’s a good point. Someone would know, and Mickey would never hear the end of it. To Milkovich men, there is something utterly suspicious about a dude that’s not banging chicks left and right.
Loud heavy metal starts blasting in Mickey’s room.
“Still”, Iggy says, stuffing more strips of bacon into his mouth. “It’s fucking weird. I don’t get how anyone can be so pissy after having sex.”
“Were you seriously not going to share with me?” Mandy snatches the joint out of Mickey’s fingers. “I shared with you last time, asshole.”
Mickey, sprawled across his mattress, dressed in jeans and a stained tank, lets her take it. He’s too stoned to even glare properly. Mandy squeezes herself on the bed between her brother and the cracked-open window to take a drag.
“You having a party here all alone?” Mandy asks, eyeing the empty beer cans all over the floor.
The only answer she gets is Mickey’s hand reaching out to take the joint back. He lifts it to his lips, eyes barely open. His face is slack and smooth, familiar but also not like Mickey at all.
“Hey”, Mandy says, mouth curling into a smile, jostling his shoulder lightly. “What are you so happy about?”
Mickey lifts a hand to cover his mouth, but he’s betrayed by the way his eyes crinkle at the corners. “Not happy ‘bout anything.”
“Shit, you’re, like. Really happy.”
Mickey’s grin doesn’t fade. “No, I’m not.”
Mandy laughs, takes the cigarette again. “You’re a shit liar when you’re high. You look like you won the fucking lottery.”
“Nah, still broke”, Mickey says.
“C’mon”, Mandy prods, digging her nail into his shoulder. It’s seriously freaky seeing him like this. “Did you meet the love of your life?”
At that, the smile drops from Mickey’s face, his eyes opening comically in surprise. He slaps Mandy’s hand away. “No. Fuck off.”
Mandy is floored. “Holy shit. Did you actually? This is about some chick?”
Mickey’s expression goes sort of pained for a second, and she can’t figure out why. Instead of answering, he covers his entire face with his palms.
They’re not the kind of siblings that have regular heart-to-hearts, the kind that tell each other secrets and cry on each other’s shoulders. Being a Milkovich means surviving, gritting your teeth and licking your wounds in private. This, though. This feels like a big deal. If her brother is going through something life-changing, Mandy wants to know. Maybe she wants to tease him a bit about it, but maybe she’d also be happy on his behalf.
“That’s kinda sweet”, she continues, uses Mickey’s apparent crisis to hog the joint and inhale a huge lungful of smoke. She’s starting to feel light and floaty already. “How’d you manage that? Is she blind? Is she attracted to the smell of pigpen?”
It makes Mickey chuckle. He slides his hands off his face, and Mandy can see his cheeks are dusted pink.
“Nah”, he says, quiet, almost shy. “Just kinda happened.”
Mandy hands him back the nearly finished joint, for encouragement. She draws her knees to her chest, wraps her arms around her legs. “Well, tell me about it.”
For a moment, Mickey just looks at her, like he’s thinking carefully. He smokes the rest of the joint and puts it out on the side of a beer can. “It’s, uh. It’s the hair. I really like the hair.”
Mandy snorts. “The hair? That is so weird and specific.”
“Shh, shut up”, Mickey says, like Mandy’s offended him somehow. “It’s fucking pretty, okay?”
“Okay, calm down, tell me more”, Mandy says, still laughing. She can’t believe she’s witnessing her brother whipped. There’s a good chance he’s stoned enough to say something seriously dumb that’ll embarrass him later.
Mickey scrunches up his face. “The hands, too. All soft and nice and they feel good when we’re-”
“Okay!” Mandy shrieks, her own hands flying to her ears. “I don’t need to hear about that! Let’s keep it PG, alright, I don’t want any mental images.”
“Okay”, Mickey agrees. Then he waggles his eyebrows, a dumb, lopsided grin taking over his face. “But it’s really fucking good.”
Mandy fake-gags and gives him the finger. While Mickey seemingly goes back to thinking, she plucks a can of beer from next to the bedside table. It’s warm already, but it’s better than nothing. When she’s cracking it open, Mickey starts talking again. He’s lost the relaxed smile.
“D’you like… like kissing?”
It’s a weird question. Mandy shrugs. It used to be exciting, back in middle school, but now it’s just a part of the routine. “Yeah, I guess. Don’t think about it that much.”
“I don’t”, Mickey says. “I don’t like it. It’s like, why would I wanna waste time slobbering all over someone when we can just to straight to banging? You know?” He tips his head back. His neck and the tips of his ears are slightly flushed. “But I think I wanna do it now. Can’t stop thinking about it. Like, we could just do that, sometimes, and not anything else, and I think I’d like that. Does that make me a fucking pussy or what?”
And it’s so fucking alien, Mickey talking like this, about kissing like it’s making him genuinely nervous and embarrassed. Like it’s a big deal.
“Probably not.”
“And I didn’t think I’d wanna spend time with someone who’s so fucking nice all the time. Like, nice to everyone.” Mickey sniffs. “Nice to me.”
Mandy doesn’t know what to say to that. Something about it pulls at her heartstrings, half jealousy, half something else.
“God, fuck”, Mickey groans, presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, hard. He sounds choked up. “’S really bad. I didn’t know it would be like this. Like I’m dying from it. And like I’d die without it. I don’t wanna fuck it up.”
“Mick”, Mandy says, softly. The teasing remarks she had are dying in her throat. Maybe later she’ll want to jab Mickey about his apparent hair fetish or something, but not now.
“How’d I get something like that?”
Mandy doesn’t know. The good things in their lives are scarce and never seem to last very long. She’s intimately familiar with the feeling of fear when something goes right, because it’s almost always snatched away.
She always figured Mickey’s stupid with girls, reckless and uncaring, treats them like they’re disposable like their brothers do. Maybe he’s not. Maybe he was a soft heart all along, waiting for the right one to come along.
Mandy reaches over, knocks the beer can against Mickey’s knee. “I don’t know. But I think you should probably hold onto it.”
“I had the weirdest conversation with Mickey last week.”
Ian’s head whips up from where he’s crouched down to inspect the DVD’s on the bottom shelf. They’re having a movie night tomorrow, and Ian’s not on board with watching romcoms. In Mandy’s opinion, it makes him kind of a shitty gay best friend.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah”, Mandy says, picking up Sleepless in Seattle. “Or actually, it was more like him, stoned as fuck, having a conversation with me.”
Ian straightens up. “What made it so weird?”
“He was being… romantic, I think”, Mandy tells him. “I think he’s finally met some chick he really likes. He’s never home now, so I guess that’s where he disappears every night.”
Ian’s face does a thing, before his expression goes curiously blank.
“It’s funny”, Mandy continues. “I remember growing up, I always thought he’d never get a girlfriend. He never seemed to really give a shit, you know? But the way he talked now… It sounds like he’s really into her. You work with him. He ever say anything to you?”
“We don’t talk that much.”
“Yeah, I guess so. He’s like that.”
“What’d he say?” Ian asks. The corners of his mouth are tense, eyes focused. “About the, uh. About the girl, I mean.”
Mandy laughs, remembering Mickey’s flushed face. She’s not enough of an asshole to tell Ian everything, but she can share some of the funny parts with her best friend. Ian’s not dumb enough to repeat any of it back to Mickey.
“He told me how much he likes her hair and her hands. It was almost poetic. And that he likes how nice she is. Dunno how nice she can be if she puts up with him.”
Smirking, she glances at Ian, who’s clearly forgotten about the movies. He’s frowning. “Anything else?”
“Oh, yeah”, Mandy nods. “About kissing.”
“What about it?” Ian asks, still weirdly serious. He doesn’t seem to find it nearly as funny as Mandy does. It feels like she’s missing something.
“He said he doesn’t like it, usually, but now he can’t stop thinking about it. Wants to do it all the time. Like it’s some amazing thing he’s never done before. Sounded like he really meant it, too.” She makes a face, picks up another movie. “It was so weird, hearing him say that shit. Like, he’s never seemed that deep to me, in that regard. I used to think he was literally the stupidest fuckhead ever when it came to girls. But I think he’s serious about this.” She pauses. “Huh.”
“What?”
“He didn’t even tell me her name. Usually my brothers are bragging about every titty they’ve seen immediately after it happens.”
Now when she looks back at Ian, his expression has shifted. His lips are pressed together like he’s suppressing a smile, eyes bright with surprise. Mandy really didn’t think he’d be this invested in some dumb story about her brother.
“I’m sure he’ll tell you at some point”, Ian says. His cheeks are pinkish, not unlike Mickey’s had been. “You know, when he’s ready.”
“You’re probably right”, Mandy agrees. She sticks Notting Hill back into the shelf. “Hey, how do you feel about zombies instead?”