Cheesequake
by Joel Henry Little

Seated alone in the back of Grace’s dad’s hatchback, Stella kept her chapped fingers curled beneath the hem of her skirt on the off chance June or Kara should catch a glimpse in the reflections that flickered across the dusty rear windows. She didn’t mind it like this, facing the wrong way while the cracked parkway and the charred trees and the low gray hills blistering up from behind the endless gray distribution centers unfurled before her like the conveyor belt of the world. She didn’t mind being alone in the other girls’ company while they blathered on about defunct sororities and the legendary wastrels of the class of ‘14 – there was nothing so unusual in it for her, being there and being apart. She didn’t like their company much anyway, though she hoped they wouldn’t say the same for her.