Curling the edges of the paper open, I started reading Anna’s love poem to James, or Jimmy, or Jim:
When our eyes meet,
our love will deepen,
like a passionate sunset,
flames igniting, rousing
a nervous energy in us.
As one, together.
Amateurish, I thought, but I didn’t tell Anna, who was nodding and looking for a reaction, like an eager child discovering new things.
I creased the paper and handed it back to her.
“Well? What do you think?” she whispered. “Do you think James will like it?”
Like it? He’ll strangle you if you show this to him, I thought. “I like the sunset part,” I told her.
She air-clapped twice, beaming, as if I had told her something good was going to happen to her soon.
Then I drowned out Anna and Mr. Anderson and a girl eagerly beckoning the teacher to answer her two-partquestion about global warming and melting glaciers.
I turned to the blanket of clouds covering the sky and thought about Rocco.
* * * *