7
Heather
Third grade
“Pssst, Heather.”
Channing leaned over to poke my arm during class.
I frowned at him, rubbing my arm. “Stop.”
I was seriously so tired of getting in trouble. Every time. It had been Mrs. Buxton two years ago. Then Mrs. Landish. Now it was Mr. Graves. As soon as school started, Channing started making jokes about his name. He said one of his dad’s friends had died and he was a metal worker. He asked our teacher if he knew what would be on his tombstone.
Mr. Graves didn’t respond, so Channing declared, “Rust in peace!” Then he laughed some more and looked at me. “And his name was Rusty too.”
Trouble.
That was Channing.
I wasn’t getting in trouble again. No way.
He poked me a second time, ducking his head and giving me that shy-but-cute grin.
I tried to ignor
