There was one boy named Elliot who was in my classes. He was a smart kid. I would call him almost every night to help me with my homework. We went through algebra, trigonometry, and calculus together. We laughed a lot on the phone, making fun of our teachers. We talked about the books Siddhartha and Steppenwolf. We talked about our parents. But I never ever considered him a potential boyfriend. Even though he was fun on the phone, Elliot was basically a nerd. He was short, he wore white socks, had braces, played the oboe-and got good grades. I also got good grades. But for some strange reason, I tried to keep that a secret from my friends.

Steven McDonald. I loved him. He was tall and muscular, with curly blonde hair. When he smiled, he blushed, and his cheeks turned pink. He was on the basketball team, the baseball team and the football team. Somehow I knew that his father worked as a prison guard. I'd heard rumors that he had a brother in prison for murder-something to do with drugs. Steven McDonald. I imagined kissing his fingertips, putting his hand to the side of my face, feeling the warmth of his palm on my cheek. I wanted to kiss the pain from his face, the suffering of having a brother who was a murderer.