Every single shirt had pit stains, even the dark ones, they had stains with lines of dried white sweat-salt outlining them like some horrible corpse. He had to leave soon! He would be late! One of the great things about being a girl, he thought, is that you can share clothes with your friends. You can't really do that if you're a guy, he thought. Could you? He'd never tried it. Should he try it now? It couldn't hurt. Could it?
There wasn't time to go to a friend's and his only roommate was sleeping. He opened the door, oh so carefully, and crept in. The roommate, Malcolm, stirred. Robbie, the trespasser, remembered now that the boy was sick, and he didn't like being wakened when he was healthy, so this was great. Robbie shut the door almost completely to preserve the darkness, but now he could not see the closet. He took out his phone and activated the flashlight, keeping as much of it hidden as humanly possible. He slid the closet door open creeeaaakkkkk and Malcolm stirred rustle rustle rustle. He grabbed the first shirt he saw, a dark denim number that he remembered looked pretty fashionable, well-tailored, striking without the flash. He grabbed it delicately and escaped. The perfect crime!
She was looking straight at it. The too tight buttons. The slivered gaps between said buttons. The shoulder seam that didn't quite reach his shoulder. All these little things. And it occurred to him, as he spoke on deaf ears, that he didn't didn't raise his arms, didn't reveal the place where the pit stains would have been. Not once.
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