you girls to go and give your allowances away on Street and Amsterdam Avenue." I feel my face heating up like a warm bath. Amsterdam and :That's near where I live, that's where the post office is; that's not a bad neighborhood. I decide to tell her, to raise my hand and say, "That isn't a bad neighborhood. The people there wouldn't want your money." But she moves along to another subject. When the class is dismissed, four girls gather around her with questions about the exam. I linger on the outskirts for a minute, then turn and leave the room In the eighth grade, everyone is exchanging turquoise friendship rings. I trade mine with Andrea Spencer a flame-colored hair.
tall, quiet girl with flame-colored hair. Andrea doesn't make trouble, and all the teachers like her for this but also because her family were killed when their BMW missed a turn near Ajaccio. Now she lives with an aunt in an apartment with long dark corridors near the school. During the summers, she visits relatives from her father's side in England. She went on a camping trip with them once, she told me, and her cousin Kevin who's our age got inside her sleeping bag for five minutes. Sometimes when I'm in bed with the lights out, listening to the late subways creep along the el, I think about being in England for the summer and having no parents or brother or sister anywhere and meeting the unknown, daring Kevin The next year, Susan Doherty comes into our class from a school that doesn't go past eighth grade. Susan, whose black bangs tickle her eyes, has more classes with Andrea than I do; Once I overhear her telling Andy, "You're so beautiful, you should try to become beautiful, you should try to become a model." At lunchtime, the three of us walk one block to a delicatessen to buy Tab. My eyes sweep around quickly, and I slip a yellow package of chewing gum into my pocket. Outside Andy and Susan have already started strolling toward school. I catch up with them, breathing harder than I should"Look what I got," I say, punctuating the sentence with a wire-thin, conspiratorial smile"You didn't! Susan shrieks instantly. I smile again and we all chew gum I Steal frequently after that, and Susan joins me, although Andy never will. She waits outside. One snowy day in February in the same delicatessen, Susan and I each drop round red Gouda cheeses into our woven shoulder bags, which everyone at school is using. We exchange glances, each taking another cheese and then another. No one notices. The store is noisy, smoky, and warm, the fogged windows blocking a view of the street we get outside, Andy's face has When turned red and blotchy, and she looks angry. Susan and I are keyed up. We insist on heading over to the park despite the cold. Andy refuses and turns back toward school, but we go on alone against a freezing wind. On Fifth Avenue, we stop at a bench to unload the cheeses. My numb fingers stumble over the red cellophane. I bite through the red wax, spit it out, and bite into the cheese. Susan takes another cheese and does same. The cold is the appalling, the street almost silent. I take another cheese, abandoning the first. Bite, spit, bite. Swallowing hurts I take another bite. "Let's get rid of these cheeses," Susan says in almost a whisper. Standing on the bench, the wind searing my thighs, I hurl the cheeses, one after another into the empty park. They sail over the wall in sharp arcs, sinking into the new-fallen snow. In class that afternoon, my mind keeps going back to those wasted cheeses. I compose a riddle for Susan, neatly writing it on a part of a sheet of loose-leaf paper. It reads: "What did the man say to the judge after he stabbed someone with a knife? Answer: I used the knife for evil, but it was meant for Gouda ho, ho, ho. I watch Susan unfold the note, study it and then finally! get it. Her suppressed laugh sounds like air rushing out of a balloon. Susan and I don't talk about Stealing we just do it, more and more. Soon, I recognize every feeling and every gradation of every feeling that arises in the process of taking something An inexplicably pretty object sets everything in motion. From the moment my eyes settle on it moment my eyes settle on it whatever it is I know I'm going to go for it. This first impulse is unpleasant, because unyielding: There is no backing down. It is followed by a quickening: of the pulse, the heart, the senses. These last play tricks. Voices become more acute but seem to come
คุณสาว ๆ ที่จะไป และให้เบี้ยเลี้ยงออกไปบนถนนและอเวนิวอัมสเตอร์ดัม" ผมรู้สึกว่าใบหน้าของฉันทำความร้อนเช่นอาบน้ำอุ่น อัมสเตอร์ดัม และ: ที่อยู่ใกล้ที่ผมอยู่ ที่อยู่ไปรษณีย์ ที่ไม่ใช่ย่านดี ไปบอกเธอ ยกมือ และพูดว่า "ที่ไม่ ใช่ย่านดี คนไม่ต้องการเงิน" แต่เธอย้ายไปเรื่องอื่น เมื่อคลาถูกปิด สี่สาวมาทั่วเธอเกี่ยวกับการสอบถาม ผมอู้อยู่รอบนอกสำหรับนาที เปิด แล้วออกจากห้องพักในชั้นแปด ทุกคนมีการแลกแหวนสีฟ้ามิตรภาพ ผมค้าเหมืองกับสเปนเซอร์ Andrea ผมสีเปลวไฟtall, quiet girl with flame-colored hair. Andrea doesn't make trouble, and all the teachers like her for this but also because her family were killed when their BMW missed a turn near Ajaccio. Now she lives with an aunt in an apartment with long dark corridors near the school. During the summers, she visits relatives from her father's side in England. She went on a camping trip with them once, she told me, and her cousin Kevin who's our age got inside her sleeping bag for five minutes. Sometimes when I'm in bed with the lights out, listening to the late subways creep along the el, I think about being in England for the summer and having no parents or brother or sister anywhere and meeting the unknown, daring Kevin The next year, Susan Doherty comes into our class from a school that doesn't go past eighth grade. Susan, whose black bangs tickle her eyes, has more classes with Andrea than I do; Once I overhear her telling Andy, "You're so beautiful, you should try to become beautiful, you should try to become a model." At lunchtime, the three of us walk one block to a delicatessen to buy Tab. My eyes sweep around quickly, and I slip a yellow package of chewing gum into my pocket. Outside Andy and Susan have already started strolling toward school. I catch up with them, breathing harder than I should"Look what I got," I say, punctuating the sentence with a wire-thin, conspiratorial smile"You didn't! Susan shrieks instantly. I smile again and we all chew gum I Steal frequently after that, and Susan joins me, although Andy never will. She waits outside. One snowy day in February in the same delicatessen, Susan and I each drop round red Gouda cheeses into our woven shoulder bags, which everyone at school is using. We exchange glances, each taking another cheese and then another. No one notices. The store is noisy, smoky, and warm, the fogged windows blocking a view of the street we get outside, Andy's face has When turned red and blotchy, and she looks angry. Susan and I are keyed up. We insist on heading over to the park despite the cold. Andy refuses and turns back toward school, but we go on alone against a freezing wind. On Fifth Avenue, we stop at a bench to unload the cheeses. My numb fingers stumble over the red cellophane. I bite through the red wax, spit it out, and bite into the cheese. Susan takes another cheese and does same. The cold is the appalling, the street almost silent. I take another cheese, abandoning the first. Bite, spit, bite. Swallowing hurts I take another bite. "Let's get rid of these cheeses," Susan says in almost a whisper. Standing on the bench, the wind searing my thighs, I hurl the cheeses, one after another into the empty park. They sail over the wall in sharp arcs, sinking into the new-fallen snow. In class that afternoon, my mind keeps going back to those wasted cheeses. I compose a riddle for Susan, neatly writing it on a part of a sheet of loose-leaf paper. It reads: "What did the man say to the judge after he stabbed someone with a knife? Answer: I used the knife for evil, but it was meant for Gouda ho, ho, ho. I watch Susan unfold the note, study it and then finally! get it. Her suppressed laugh sounds like air rushing out of a balloon. Susan and I don't talk about Stealing we just do it, more and more. Soon, I recognize every feeling and every gradation of every feeling that arises in the process of taking something An inexplicably pretty object sets everything in motion. From the moment my eyes settle on it moment my eyes settle on it whatever it is I know I'm going to go for it. This first impulse is unpleasant, because unyielding: There is no backing down. It is followed by a quickening: of the pulse, the heart, the senses. These last play tricks. Voices become more acute but seem to come
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