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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 year。 She'd bring in some note and be sure to swoon a little for the teacher
the first few days of the year； after which she'd be
excused from anything that required muscles。 She never even put up her own chair at the
end of the day。 The only muscles she exercised regularly
were the ones around her mouth； and those she worked out nonstop。 If there was an
Olympic contest for talking； Shelly Stalls would sweep the
event。 Well； she'd at least win the gold and silver— one medal for each side of her mouth。
What bugged me about it was not the fact that she got out of P。E。—who'd want her on their
team； anyway？ What bugged me about it was that
anyone who bothered to look would know that it wasn't asthma or weak ankles or her being
“delicate” that was stopping her。 It was her hair。 She
had mountains of it； twisted this way or that； clipped or beaded； braided or swirled。 Her
ponytails rivaled the ones on carousel horses。 And on the
days she let it all hang down； she'd sort of shimmy and cuddle inside it like it was a blanket；
so that practically all you saw of her face was her nose。
Good luck playing four…square with a blanket over your head。
My solution to Shelly Stalls was to ignore her； which worked just dandy until about halfway
through the fifth grade when I saw her holding hands
with Bryce。
My Bryce。 The one who was still embarrassed over holding my hand two days before the
second grade。 The one who was still too shy to say
much more than hello to me。
The one who was still walking around with my first kiss。
How could Shelly have wormed her hand into his？ That pushy little princess had no business
hanging on to him like that！
Bryce looked over his shoulder from time to time as they walked along； and he was looking
at me。 My first thought was that he was telling me he
was sorry。 Then it dawned on me— he needed my help。 Absolutely； that's what it had to be！
Shelly Stalls was too delicate to shake off； too swirly to
be pushed away。 She'd unravel and start sniffling and oh； how embarrassing that would be
for him！ No； this wasn't a job a boy could do gracefully。
This was a job for a girl。
I didn't even bother checking around for other candidates—I had her off of him in two
seconds flat。 Bryce ran away the minute he was free； but not
Shelly。 Oh； no…no…no！ She came at me； scratching and pulling and twisting anything she
could get her hands on； telling me that Bryce was hers and
there was no way she was letting him go。
How delicate。
I was hoping for herds of teachers to appear so they could see the real Shelly Stalls in action；
but it was too late by the time anyone arrived on the
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scene。 I had Fluffy in a headlock and her arm twisted back in a hammerlock； and no amount
of her squawking or scratching was going to get me to
un lock her until a teacher arrived。
In the end； Shelly went home early with a bad case of mussed…up hair； while I told my side of
things to the principal。 Mrs。 Shultz is a sturdy lady
who probably secretly appreciates the value of a swift kick well placed； and although she told
me that it would be better if I let other people work out
their own dilemmas； she definitely understood about Shelly Stalls and her hair and told me
she was glad I'd had the self…control to do nothing more
than restrain her。
Shelly was back the next day with a head full of braids。 And of course she got everybody
whispering about me； but I just ignored them。 The facts
spoke for themselves。 Bryce didn't go anywhere near her for the rest of the year。
That's not to say that Bryce held my hand after that； but he did start being a little friendlier to
me。 Especially in the sixth grade； after Mr。 Mertins
sat us right next to each other in the third row back。
Sitting next to Bryce was nice。 He was nice。 He'd say Hi； Juli to me every morning； and once
in a while I'd catch him looking my way。 He'd always
blush and go back to his own work； and I couldn't help but smile。 He was so shy。 And so cute！
We talked to each other more； too。 Especially after Mr。 Mertins moved me behind him。 Mr。
Mertins had a detention policy about spelling； where if
you missed more than seven out of twenty…five words； you had to spend lunch inside with
him； writing your words over and over and over again。
The pressure of detention made Bryce panic。 And even though it bothered my conscience；
I'd lean in and whisper answers to him； hoping that
maybe I could spend lunch with him instead。 His hair smelled like watermelon； and his ear…
lobes had fuzz。 Soft； blond fuzz。 And I wondered about
that。 How does a boy with such black hair wind up with blond ear fuzz？ What's it doing there；
anyway？ I checked my own ear…lobes in the mirror but
couldn't find much of anything on them； and I didn't spot any on other people's either。
I thought about asking Mr。 Mertins about earlobe fuzz when we were discussing evolution in
science； but I didn't。 Instead； I spent the year
whispering spelling words； sniffing watermelon； and wondering if I was ever going to get my
kiss。
Buddy； Beware！
Seventh grade brought changes； all right； but the biggest one didn't happen at school — it
happened at home。 Granddad Duncan came to live with
us。
At first it was kind of weird because none of us really knew him。 Except for Mom； of course。
And even though she's spent the past year and a half
trying to convince us he's a great guy； from what I can tell； the thing he likes to do best is
stare out the front…room window。 There's not much to see
out there except the Bakers' front yard； but you can find him there day or night； sitting in the
big easy chair they moved in with him； staring out the
window。
Okay； so he also reads Tom Clancy novels and the newspapers and does crossword puzzles
and tracks his stocks； but those things are all
distractions。 Given no one to justify it to； the man would stare out the window until he fell
asleep。 Not that there's anything wrong with that。 It just
seems so … boring。
Mom says he stares like that because he misses Grandma； but that's not something
Granddad had ever discussed with me。 As a matter of fact；
he never discussed much of anything with me until a few months ago when he read about
Juli in the newspaper。
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Now； Juli Baker did not wind up on the front page of the Mayfield Times for being an eighth…
grade Einstein； like you might suspect。 No； my
friend； she got front…page coverage because she refused t