I walked down the road dimly lit by street lamps, past the Town Hall where I had once spied on the older kids in the parking lot from my bedroom window. I passed the Harrison's and waved to Millard swaying in his rocker, reading the newspaper. I was coming to the age where you start to wonder if those old people really believe you are that innocent, and I wondered if Millard could see through the false naiveté in my smile. I wondered why I wanted Millard to believe I was innocent. As I came to our old white farmhouse, I admired, not for the first time, what a beautiful street I lived on. I glanced at Joan's house, her bedroom light wasn't on. She wasn't home. I walked past my house, down to the bridge. I saw some kids even older than I tossing pebbles into the stream that flowed behind my house. I had always been to shy to talk to them, but the charm of their ragged clothes and toothy grins was so alluring that I always came close.

I turned around before I came to the bridge, taking a shortcut through my backyard. I saw my dad in his garden and wondered if he knew I was watching him. He had a nice way about him when he worked, intent, peaceful. I saw Liam playing soccer in his yard across the street, his sandy hair flopping every which way, and waited for my mom's old Volvo to turn into the driveway before I scampered across the street. No words were exchanged as I slipped off damp socks and my old sneakers, and he passed the ball. Barefoot, we kicked it back and forth, enjoying the thumping sound with each strong kick. I loved this time of day. It felt like half past six, and soon our parents would put out some corn on the cob and we'd wipe our chins with laughter and not bother to wipe the grass from our dewy feet.

Dinner time approached, and Liam and I walked hand and hand across the street to where my parents were lounging together in big lawn chairs. We climbed up the stone steps to my front porch and went into the house. I made him lemonade while he talked. 'I dunno'�,'� he began. 'I dunno bout this lang-ige ahrts stuff y'know? I wanna be an artist. I like to do stuff with my hands.'� That was true. Liam was an amazing artist, and he was amazing with his hands. 'What du ya wanna do with yer life?'� he asked, his eyes shining brightly, perspiring, tanned skin glistening in the dim light of spring's early evening. There were times I liked to pretend that Liam was more complex than he actually was, but given the almost painful simplicity of his statements that was hard to do. I liked to pretend that there was an underlying meaning to what he said, that each look he gave meant something intended only for me. But deep down I knew there wasn't. I felt my brow wrinkle, 'Uh, I dunno.'� I mumbled, realizing that I didn't sound too complex either.

That night I went over to Joan's house and watched an old Molly Ringwald movie, and we laughed and cried and although I felt it was cliché it was still okay. Joan and I had been friends ever since we were little and for some reason that justified everything we did. We'd laugh and talk until our faces felt hot, and I'd feel I was babbling but wouldn't make an effort to organize my thoughts. Joan and I had grown very different over the years, but we never grew apart. I felt she was a bit of a pseudo-feminist, making it her philosophy that by engaging in promiscuity she was battling patriarchy. I thought this a bizarre philosophy, and I didn't like to think about Joan in that way, so I tried not to, and so we were still always able to have a good time. Whenever we'd run over to each others houses through the damp lawns we'd always have fun. We'd catch fireflies and take night swims under the bridge and laugh about things that didn't make very much sense.

That night, as I listened to the peepers out my window, I thought of Liam. I thought of how I wanted him to be complex but only so that I could analyze him. I had often tried to address serious issues with Liam, and it frustrated me how apparent it was that he did not comprehend. I wanted him to understand these issues, to consider them, and to discuss and debate them with me. I hated not being able to share that part of myself with him, and I wondered what was wrong with me that I felt a connection with someone so basic. My hand still felt damp from his and my cheek sticky where his lips lingered. I felt even though he said little, he always said the wrong thing. Even in silent discourse with myself I had heated arguments, and they always left me upset and discontent but always rather invigorated. I thought about how I loved to analyze intricate things and how they frustrated me, and I wondered why I wanted Liam to be so multifaceted if I knew it would only cause me distress.

The next morning I woke up to the smell of orange juice. For some reason I detested the smell of food cooking, even brownies and pancakes and all the good things. However, I could always smell orange juice and I wrapped a sweater around my shoulders before scampering downstairs to taste it. When I got there, I was not surprised to see more people there than had spent the night. Emily, the little girl from down the street, was helping my mom make waffles. My dad was wearing a big, garishly green apron that said '#1 Dad'� and was stirring a sizzling pan. 'Wanna throw in some green peppers, Mel?'� he yelled without turning around. I ran outside to the garden behind the house to grab some green peppers, feeling the wet grass cling to the soles of my feet.

I shivered at the breakfast table, pulling the sweater tighter around my shoulders. I couldn't help but notice the alarming taste of the green peppers in the eggs, and soon realized with horror I hadn't washed them. It wasn't like we doused the vegetables with any Brown family-pesticides, but I could've sworn I tasted dirt. I darted my eyes suspiciously around the table, but everyone was chewing happily, cheeks rosy, looking bright eyed and bushy tailed. 'Watcha lookin so sus-pee-chose fer, Mellieee?'� questioned Emily, in that whiny way of hers. I loathed Emily, and pretty much all children, but especially Emily. There seemed to be a surplus of Emilies in the world, and before you think it's freakish to harbor such resentment for a young child, let me explain. I hated the Emilies for being so innocent and so naïve. I hated the Emilies of the world, and I didn't believe I'd never been an Emily for very long.

That day I was going to the olds home to visit Janice. Janice was our old grandmother, who had just suffered 'bit of one of those strokes,'� according to my mother. So, in other words, Janice was very old and sick. She was also very colorful, and today I was going to see her.

After pulling up in my old green rattling Volkswagen, I walked towards the sterile- looking brown door of the home. As I entered, the rust on the door handle caught my eye and I stepped into the dusty light. I watched the brown tiles on the floor move quickly beneath my feet, and I held my breath as I stepped into her room. Everyone was going up in cahoots around Janice, for she was quite the character. 'Everyone, look!'� she hollered. 'This here's m'beautiful granddaughter I here've been tellin' y'all about! It's here Melly!'� A wrinked man wearing a green spotted tie smiled, 'I can see where she gets her looks,'� he said as he poked my grandmother. I cringed when I noticed the coordination between her shoelaces and the ribbons tied on her walker. A quiet woman in the corner appeared to be listening to a tape recorder, and I immediately used it to distract them. 'What are you listening to?'� I asked politely. 'Britney Spears,'� she replied sullenly, staring directly at me, not blinking. 'So you got yerself a feller?'� Janice shouted. I blushed, and they all hooted. 'Whatdayaknow! This here young ladies got herself a feller'�,'� Wrinkly man muttered, a smile playing on his lips. Janice nodded her head, smiling, eyes moist, and I saw wrinkly squeeze her hand.

I knew I'd run into Liam soon. I decided to gauge Liam's reaction to my appearance without a shower. Sure, when we were younger we probably bathed together or something disgusting like that, but now it was different. We'd play soccer and roll in the messy grass but it was fun and I liked it. I thought about how we'd sit on his creaky wicker sofa after the game, and I thought more about Liam and about his moist palms and messy kisses and about the olds at the home. I decided to take a shower.

When I came downstairs Mom asked me how Janice was, and I asked her why she didn't go find out for herself. That seemed to shut her up, and I wondered why and began to feel badly. However, I soon forgot and decided to paint my toes with a new color. My sister Ellen came in, but I didn't hear her for awhile because I was listening so loudly to the Rolling Stones. I didn't know she was there until she started singing along, 'and people say I'm cynical,'� she sang, using my pink hairbrush as a microphone as she danced around. 'They never want the truth,'� she continued, 'but life will have more twists and turns than found in my book'�.'�

The phone rang, 'Well, are you going to Tom's tonight?'� the voice asked excitedly. It wasn't Joan. I narrowed by eyes, 'Uh, who is this?'� I asked. 'God, Melissa! It's PAUL!'� He laughed, snorting. I rolled my eyes but couldn't help but giggle. His voice sounded so weird and girlish on the phone. 'I don't know, Paul, but come by later.'� 'Anything for you Mellaroo,'� he sang. Click.

I sat out on the lawn leaning against the big oak tree for awhile, reading until dusk took over. I saw Liam from across the street, and waved, not bothering to get up. I saw him smile and admired his handsomeness from far away. I watched him come over, flip flops swinging from his hand. 'Ya goin ta Tom's?'� he asked brightly, flopping down next to me. 'Maybe,'� I replied. He kissed me on the cheek. I hesitated but thought him so striking that I grazed his angular jaw with my hand and kissed him back.

I saw a girl coming down the street, swaying her hips as she walked. She was wearing a pretty skirt and a lacy shirt, and I soon realized it was Joan. She had her hair curled and a little makeup on, and she looked very pretty. I stood up and waved, and she came over and hugged me. Joan was a big hugger, but her hugs were always one-armed, and I didn't like them. 'Are you going to Tom's?'� she motioned to Liam and me. 'That seems to be the question of the night,'� I commented. An awkward pause followed. 'So I'm in,'� I paused, 'If you guys are.'�

They were in. Tom was this kid down the street who was Jewish and very popular, and my dad often had fights with his at town meetings. His dad was always happy and would give us all beer if we asked for it. No one had to worry about driving home because we all lived nearby. So we walked to Tom's, Joan's heels clicking on the street, Liam's flip flops swinging, and mine flip-flopping.

When we entered through the screen door, Joan embraced some anonymous underclassman hoochie baby, and Liam and I continued into the next room. He handed me a beer, and I stared at his profile, thinking he looked a bit like a Neanderthal as he took a swig. He turned and said 'Whya lookin at me like that?'� as he grabbed my cheek. 'You're cute, you know that?'� His gaze never lasted more than a few seconds, and he was soon chatting up some kid from the soccer team. I felt the third wheel and went to watch the whiffle ball game outside.

Depressed that Liam hadn't come to find me in my pouting state and that there was in fact no whiffle ball, I went out onto Tom's big porch with Cassie and Amy to take some shots. I didn't usually drink like that, but I was feeling angry with myself so I did. Soon we were all having a good time and the awkwardness that maybe Cassie had slept with Amy's boyfriend was gone, and we all laughed and fell down onto the lawn.

I woke to find myself wrapped in a scratchy wool blanket on Tom's porch. No one seemed to notice me, and for a moment I felt the heaviness of my head and felt very alone. Some boys were still hanging around, and I rose to my feet shakily. 'Heyaa,'� slurred someone from behind me. 'Feelin' a little tipsy, Brown?'� he poked me from behind. I rolled my eyes, nearly falling over. 'Paul, you never stopped by!'� I cried hysterically. 'I did honey, but your momma told me you'd already left.'� he reassured me, comfortingly. I nodded my head, 'Okay, okay,'� I patted him on the shoulder, 'I believe you, Paul.'�

I walked around the porch, searching for Joan or Liam or anyone. I didn't see them, and it seemed late. I couldn't imagine they'd left me there, but I decided to walk home anyway. Paul caught me by the arm and offered to come with me, 'Don't want you getting in no accident,'� he grinned.

As Paul and I walked home, arm and arm, I decided he was a good friend. 'I can't believe Liam left me there! And Joan! But really, Liam!'� The more I talked about it, the more inappropriate it seemed. 'God, he's so basic, and yet he thinks he knows what's going on all the time,'� I muttered. 'Sometimes'�.'� I trailed off. Paul nodded as if he understood and squeezed my arm. 'We all gotta have somebody sometimes though, you know? It helps us get by; it's okay if they're not right.'� 'Really?'� I questioned. There was a pause. 'Yeah,'� he nodded his head confidently. 'Just don't ask of him what you know he can't give you.'�

The next day I woke up not feeling well but I had to go to the olds home again. I wasn't looking too 'bootiful'� this morning, but I doubt that they would be able to tell the difference. I entered this time through a different entrance and found myself in the reading room, full of oversized overprint books and some overstuffed orange armchairs. The must was overwhelming, and I wheezed furiously, only to be hushed with enormous 'Shhhhsss!'� from the other end of the library. Since when could old people hear that well? I went over, and coincidentally there was Janice. 'Heee-ya she issss!'� she announced my appearance, and I could see her lady friends give me the same once over like the girls in school. 'Girls these days,'� one shook their head. 'Would it do her any harm to set her hair in rollers? Or apply some cheek rouge or liner? Honestly.'� They all nodded in agreement, and I awkwardly stuffed my hands in my ill-fitting jeans, running my fingers through my still-damp stringy hair, feeling stupid about last night and how I'd babbled to Paul about Liam and had accepted what he'd told me. 'Everybody needs somebody sometimes,'� he'd told me. I didn't like that statement for it made me feel very plain.

That day, I helped Dad outside in the garden. I saw Liam across the street and thought angrily about how carefree he appeared to be. Filled with pent-up rage, I quickly walked over. 'Liam!'� I shouted. 'Oh, heya beautiful,'� he leaned over to kiss me. 'No!'� I shouted, my eyes filling with tears. 'Why did you leave me last night? I was all alone! Paul had to walk me home!'� Liam appeared unflustered as he scuffed his foot. 'You were sleepin','� he said simply. Exasperated, I sighed, opting not to explain myself. It didn't do any good anyway. I'd stopped pretending Liam was complex, and I didn't want to need him or how handsome he was anymore.

'I like your shirt,'� he blurted out, not seeming to notice he was ruining my stalk-off. 'Thanks,'� I replied flatly, looking down at my boardlike figure and vintage Rolling Stones T-shirt, a birthday present from Elly. 'You like them?'� he asked inquisitively, his eyes filled with childlike curiosity. I laughed, 'Well, I listen to them'�and I wear the shirt'�No. I hate them.'� 'Oh,'� he looked confused. 'Then why do ya wear the t-shirt? That's kinda like false advertising.'� He laughed at his own non-joke. I squinted my eyes and stared up at the sun, thinking how ridiculous Liam was. 'Ever feel like your life is on camera?'� I asked. 'Like things are so outlandish that someone has to be setting you up?'� 'No,'� replied Liam. He ask didn't why, and I wasn't going to tell him.

I feel asleep that night and dreamt of men in fur dresses. They were Neanderthal men like I had pictured Liam to be while he swigged the beer. One man came over to a furry girl Neanderthal and grunted, and they appeared to be getting married. I was confused about why, and when the male Neanderthal turned around I saw it had the face of Liam.

Horrified, I awoke with a start. I thought panicking that I desperately needed to detach myself from Liam. I did not want to need him or how handsome he was, and I wanted to prove Paul wrong. I planted my bare feet on the floor and walked to my windowsill. I sat on the cold floor and wrote him a letter. In the letter I told him no truths only lies to separate us but not forever.

The next morning I delivered it early, and I saw his mom in the kitchen making breakfast. I got a sick feeling in my stomach as I thought of beautiful Liam coming downstairs to find the ugly letter waiting for him. But I ran across the street again, wiping the tears from my eyes because I didn't know what else to do. I turned around and saw his dad at the mailbox. Our eyes met, and I realized he'd been watching me the whole time. He had his slippers on, and I wondered if he knew.

I was feeling bad. I felt sick and I wanted to forget about Liam. I didn't need him or how handsome he was. I thought more about what Paul said about how I shouldn't ask Liam for what he couldn't give me. One person certainly couldn't be expected to give me everything. I decided he was right in that way, but I was still glad I didn't need someone.

I took a shower early and put on a pretty white skirt and curled my hair. I put on makeup as I gazed in the bathroom mirror and wore some of Elly's earrings. I looked hardly recognizable. I went downstairs and took a blueberry muffin from the basket and felt so transparent that I hurried outside before anyone could see what I was feeling.

I went outside and sat on the rock by the stream. I used to sit here when I was little with Dad. We used to come here to imagine, talk, and think. I kicked off my sandals and waded into the water and suddenly felt very happy. I felt I didn't need the pretty clothes anymore and for a moment everything seemed okay. I peeled off the skirt and went for a swim, careful to take out Elly's earrings off first and lay them on the rock. As I swam under the bridge, I heard voices from above. My face was heating up even in the cool water; it hadn't crossed my mind that those older kids might be there. I stopped, holding my breath under the bridge and saw my skirt and sandals sitting on the rock. All of a sudden I heard a large plop in the water. I gasped and turned around to see a soccer ball next to me floating in the water. I looked up and saw a tall shadow coming down the hill. Without words, I climbed onto the rock and slid back into my skirt. I bothered not for shoes nor words and swiftly kicked the ball back.

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