“I love the way you laugh,” she says, quivering. “I never make you laugh, and I hate it when I see you from a distance and someone else did. But I love it, too.” A smile pulls at my lips. “You think about me?” She nods. “I wonder how these little braids happen.” She touches my hair. “If it’s a nervous habit, you do them on purpose, or maybe a little girl you babysit plays with your hair . . .” I hover so close to her mouth I can feel its heat. “I stare at them in math class,”
