l recently
I'd have said with absolute certainty that he was
greater—far greater—than the sum of his parts。 What he did to my heart was sheer；
inexplicable magic。
But inexplicable was the operative word here。 And as I looked across the room at him during
math； I couldn't help feeling crushed all over again
about how he'd thrown out my eggs。 What kind of person would do that？
Then he looked my way and smiled； and my heart lurched。 But I was mad at myself for it。
How could I still feel this way after what he'd done？
I avoided him the rest of the day； but by the end of school there was a tornado inside me；
tearing me up from one end to the other。 I jumped on my
bike and rode home faster than I ever had before。 The right pedal clanked against the chain
guard； and the whole bike rattled and squeaked；
threatening to collapse into a pile of rusty parts。
The tornado； however； was still going strong when I skidded to a halt in our driveway。 So I
transferred pedal power into painting power。 I pried
open the gallon of Navajo White my dad had bought me and started slopping paint around。
Chet appeared about ten minutes later。 “My；” he laughed； “you've got an enviable amount of
energy today； don't you？”
“No；” I said； brushing back some hair with the back of my hand； “I'm just mad。”
He produced his own brush and an empty coffee can。 “Uhoh。 Who at？”