skills at bitchiness was okay by me. I didn’t really think of it as being mean, I thought of it as having fun. Michael Hunter might have thought otherwise. I can’t remember what I said to him that first day in school, but I know I made him feel like shit. By the end of the day, I had definitely not made a new friend. Nonetheless, I had begun one of the most intense relationships of my early years.
In many ways, Michael was everything that I was not. Brash, confident, athletic, and charming in a guileless, almost needy, sort of way. He had brown hair, which got much lighter in the summer, brown eyes, thick eyebrows for a kid, and one unusual feature that we all noticed immediately: the last section of his index finger had been reattached. I forget how he lost his finger, and even if he told me it was probably a lie. I always said his mouth ran so fast he probably bit it off himself.
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