Not the kind of silly stuff Ellie and Brenda giggled about on the telephone.
This was too real and too deep to talk about, even to think about very much. Her long swishy black hair and blue, blue eyes.
She could play the guitar like a regular recording star, and she had this soft floaty voice that made Jess squish inside.
Lord, she was gorgeous. And she liked him, too. One day last winter he had given her one of his pictures.
Just shoved it into her hand after class and run. The next Friday she had asked him to stay a minute after class.
She said he was “unusually talented,” and she hoped he wouldn’t let anything discourage him, but would “keep it up.”
That meant, Jess believed, that she thought he was the best.
It was not the kind of best that counted either at school or at home, but it was a genuine kind of best.
He kept the knowledge of it buried inside himself like a pirate treasure.
He was rich, very rich, but no one could know about it for now except his fellow outlaw, Julia Edmunds.
“Sounds like some kinda hippie,” his mother had said when Brenda, who had been in seventh grade last year, described Miss Edmunds to her.
She probably was. Jess wouldn’t argue that, but he saw her as a beautiful wild creature
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