Chapter 13June 1995
In the end, I suppose we just became too sloppy. Sometimes, the kisses on my cheek were just a little too low, a little too close to my mouth. Sometimes, the knowing looks that we shared were just a little too knowing. Sometimes, the way Connie touched me, held me—it was just a little too familiar.
It wasn’t her fault alone. I had always had a wandering eye and I was never very subtle in the way I would stare, open-mouthed, as my friends paraded past in skirts that left little to the imagination. I didn’t dress like the other girls, either, in my loose-fitting shirts and my ripped jeans and my beanies. I didn’t flirt with boys really, didn’t mindlessly chase after them at parties. The signs were always there for anyone that dared to look. And for the longest time, the
