Catfish Crash

“That’s not exactly how it happened!” I said.
Maggie folded her arms across her chest. “Well, I’m listening,” she said. “How did it happen?”
“Oh, fuck you and your Goddamn self-righteous ass.”
“Don’t you dare talk to me like that.” Maggie clenched my arm, digging her fingernails into my skin. “I’m not one of your students that you can just boss around.”
“Didn’t say you were.”
“Didn’t have to,” Maggie said. “Besides, I’m still waiting. How did you wreck my brand new car?”
“I was driving — this is true.”
“God.” Maggie slapped her thighs. “Just get to the point.”
“I was looking at my phone when…”
“You were staring at a girl in a red 1964 Chevelle SS.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I followed you!” Maggie said.
“But she was so cute.”
“I know.”
“How do you know?”
“Because it was me with a wig on.” Maggie laughed. “I was trying to see if you would ask out a random stranger.” Maggie’s smile turned cold. “But then you rear-ended some poor bastard in a Ford F-150?”
“So, technically, it was your fault, right?”
Maggie’s mouth hung open, not closing.


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