Tampa Read Online Free PDF Page B

a favorite celebrity
, he wrote.
Usually if there’s a good movie I like then I will also like the main woman in it, or if there’s a singer and I like the song and the video and she’s also pretty
. Friday of the first week, I decided to keep him after class to ask about the lack of detail. I planned to go shopping over the weekend and cater to his proclivities.
    When I called him up, he waved good-bye to his friends—a nice gesture, I thought, making sure they wouldn’t wait outside for him. Then he slowly walked up to my desk. His hands were clutched to the straps of his backpack, holding it tightly as though it were a parachute.
    “I’d like to chat for a bit about your writing—do you mind missing a little of your lunch?”
    He looked at the ground, his sneaker tracing a line across the tile, and shook his head no. The puffy styling of his athletic shoes made his legs seem even thinner—there didn’t seem to be one ounce to his body that wasn’t essential. I loved the precarious way his cargo shorts drooped on the elongated hanger of his pelvic bones, the way they’d likely fall down at the slightest tug. His kneecaps, barely sticking out from the bottom of his shorts’ hem, would make perfect , nearly circular imprints if he knelt down in the sand.
    “So how’s your year going? What other classes do you have?”
More important
, I wanted to add,
when did you last touch yourself?
    Shrugging, he finally looked up at me. “The usual I guess. Biology , World History …”
    “Mrs. Feinlog?” I laughed. “Dear God, I’m sorry.”
    He smiled. “Yeah.” He started scratching his arm, then began looking at me intently while he continued, as though he was vicariously relieving an itch on my body.
    “So I wanted to talk about this journal you wrote.” My oversized desk was a large gulf between us, so I rose from my chair and motioned for us to head out to the student desks. “Here, let’s have a chat for a minute.” When he sat, I scooted another desk directly next to his so we could each stare at his notebook at the same time.
    Suddenly I was closer to him than I’d ever been before. I could smell the faint sporty body wash and deodorant he used. It was nearly cruel, the apathetic way his cotton T-shirt fell on his body, not seeming to care where it clung and where it sat loose. His clothing in general had a very inconsequential feel to it, like an afterthought , as though he’d been walking out the door to go to school in his underwear but then his mother had said,
Wait, get dressed first
, and he’d shrugged and obeyed.
    “So I think you took the easy way out here,” I chided. “I don’t know that you used one single specific adjective.” I put my hand on top of his just for a moment, a reach of understanding and sympathy , then realized an opportunity to linger. “Look,” I said. “Hold out your hand. I think our hands are the same size.” He stretched out his palm and fingers, then gave a wide grin when mine, placed directly overtop, were indeed an exact match in length. It seemed like we’d just found a key that unlocked something.
    I smiled as our hands pressed against one another in midair, as though we were pretending to touch through invisible glass. We managed a long stare before Jack finally blushed, retracting his hands. “How old are you, Jack Patrick?”
    “I turned fourteen this summer,” he said. I gave an impressed nod, indicating this was no small accomplishment.
    “Well you’re certainly old enough to know what you like.” Principal Deegan’s first-day speech came back to mind; I had to bite my lip not to jokingly add in,
Am I right?
“Here, let me give you some examples. Do you like it when girls wear lipstick?”
    He blushed and nodded. “Yeah.” His voice had an embarrassed tone, like he’d just made a vile confession.
    “Good—do you like lighter lipstick? Darker lipstick? Red?” I wanted to grab his hand again. It took every ounce of self-control I had