Darla Tressler caught me watching, and man, she gave me the world’s wickedest smile.
If I didn’t do something fast, this was going to spread like wildfire, so I squinted at her and whispered,
“There’s a bee in her hair, stupid,” then pointed around in the air like, There it goes, see?
Darla’s neck whipped around searching for the bee, and I straightened out my focus for the rest of the day.
The last thing I needed was to be scorched by the likes of Darla Tressler.
That night I was doing my homework, and just to prove to myself that I’d been wrong, I pulled that newspaper article out of my trash can.
And as I’m flipping it over, I’m telling myself, It’s a distortion of reality; it’s my imagination; she doesn’t really look like that….
But there she was. The girl in my math class, two rows over and one seat up, glowing through newsprint.
Lynetta barged in. “I need your sharpener,” she said.
I slammed my binder closed over the paper and said, “You’re supposed to knock!”
And then, since she was zooming in and the paper was still sticking out, I crammed the binder into my backpack as fast as I could.
“What are you trying to hide there, baby brother?” “Nothing, and stop calling me that! And don’t barge into my room anymore!”
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