My dream man was pasted on a piece of blue construction paper. His hair was blond and swept back to the right. Dani cut it out jaggedly and so it looked more like a scare wig than real hair. He had the face of a hero from a recent action movie, but the eyes had been colored in blue with a marker. The arms were too long for the body and stuck out at odd angles as though he’d fallen from a great height and broken several bones. His muscles bulged under an Old Navy T-shirt and something else bulged under a skin-tight pair of Calvin Klein underpants. For some reason, she’d also given him shiny, black, tasseled loafers she’d cut out and glued on top of his bare feet.
“His name’s Dylan,” Dani told me when she gave him to me. “Or should I say Logan?”
I rolled my eyes to heaven.
“Don’t pout. It makes you look—”
I did not want to know what it made me look like. “He’s got nice arms,” I said, just to say something.
“They’re what’s-his-name’s arms … uh … the drummer from that band you like.”
“Oh, yeah, I can see the tip of the drumstick in his hand.”
“I’ve put a lot of thought into this, Lynn. I used the stats from the talk you and Logan had the other day,” Dani said. “And now maybe you found the real him. The real dream man, I mean.”
“Yeah,” I said, “maybe.”