He rubbed his temples, pretending it helped. She’s cute, he told himself, and if I help her edit this goddamn story for this goddamn writing class she’ll think I’m nice, and then we’ll see.

But she couldn’t spell. He scanned down the page, wielding his red pen with a violence and anger born of years of corrections, of noticing that APPARENTLY NO ONE ELSE CAN FUCKING SPELL. “Mankind was bannished from the surface for a long time, driven to their subterrainean layers by the gods.” He slashed at letters and words, leaving their blood to serve as an example to other misplaced characters. “But the race of man would not sit in silence, they would have, there vengence.” Jesus, not commas too. He tried valiantly not to stab a hole in the paper as he scribbled them out, repeating, She’s cute, she’s cute, she’s cute.

The next day, she flashed sparkling teeth and asked how it was. Swear words strained against his teeth, but he swallowed them and smiled an I-swear-I-don’t-think-you’re-an-idiot-smile. “I loved it.”