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I hadn't gotten to play with Bryce at all。
All I knew was that his eyes were a dizzying blue; that
he had a sister who was not to be trusted; and that he'd almost kissed me。
I fell asleep that night thinking about the kiss that might have been。 What did a kiss feel like;
anyway? Somehow I knew it wouldn't be like the one I
got from Mom or Dad at bedtime。 The same species; maybe; but a radically different beast;
to be sure。 Like a wolf and a whippet—only science
would put them on the same tree。
Looking back on the second grade; I like to think it was at least partly scientific curiosity that
made me chase after that kiss; but to be honest; it
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was probably more those blue eyes。 All through the second and third grades I couldn't seem
to stop myself from following him; from sitting by him;
from just wanting to be near him。
By the fourth grade I'd learned to control myself。 The sight of him—the thought of him—still
sent my heart humming; but my legs didn't actually
chase after him anymore。 I just watched and thought and dreamed。
Then in the fifth grade Shelly Stalls came into the picture。 Shelly Stalls is a ninny。 A whiny;
gossipy; backstabbing ninny who says one thing to one
person and the opposite to another。 Now that we're in junior high; she's the undisputed diva
of drama; but even back in elementary school she knew
how to put on a performance。 Especially when it came to P。E。 I never once saw her run laps
or do calisthenics。 Instead; she would go into her
“delicate” act; claiming her body would absolutely collapse from the strain if she ran or
jumped or stretched。
It worked。 Every yea
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