Keller’s room. She’s never in this hall at this time of the morning. What a great picture she makes. She’s wearing jeans and a rich brown shirt that buttons up the front. She’s got on these boots that make her look long and leggy; she looks like a model, standing there talking to some other girl who is squatting down, getting something out of the bottom of her locker. I slow down. I don’t care if I’m late and my tech ed teacher gets pissed. I’m just happy I’m going to get to talk to Grace for a moment. Even just watching her perks me up. She’s the only girl I’ve ever seen who’s really truly beautiful. Everything about her is soft and natural—she’s like a butterfly you’d better not close your hand around or you’d crush it. “He wouldn’t do that,” I hear Grace saying to the other girl, as I get closer. “He did do that,” the girl says, and stands up, holding her books. It’s Silver Stanton. She sees me, over Grace’s shoulder, and gives a nervous little whinny, which makes Grace turn around.
