*fumbles and drops the envelope altogether, suddenly glad you and legs-chick can't see his face*
*only half-listens to the rest of your conversation, trying to match the voice with hazy memories of a skinny little wimp cowering against the old bridge railing (please don't, please don't) and mayonnaise splattered on the green gym lockers (he's a hungry little fag, ain't he?)*
*belatedly realizes he's crumpling some pink form into an unrecognizable wad in his palm, and drops it, inhaling deeply* *just fucking figures, though, doesn't it?*