Just Three, 1957
THERE WERE THREE OF us. Jamie had curly hair. Roxanne had freckles. I had no remarkable looks, but I was tough.
We built a treehouse in the vacant lot near our elementary school. Our hideaway was fashioned from boards that we found and from nails that we bought by saving our ice cream money. Fortunately, all of our moms gave out ice cream money.
“Race ya down.”
“Not yet. I want to look at the clouds.”
“Leave her be. Brainiac’s brain is engaged. Did you get straight A’s again, Elissa?”
“Nope. But Mom says it’s nearly expected for fat girls to get C’s in gym. Do you want to diet with me? Mom says all protein is a good idea.”
“Thanks. Not. I can wear a two piece.”
“Come on, no one wants to race down?”
“Roxanne, No.”
“No, in my house, too.”
“See ya later—the Frozen
