Bloor Line, with her fraternal twin.

Caucasian girl, 14-15, with purple glasses and hair pinned into multiple ponytails, wearing a grey jacket, white dress shirt, plaid skirt and blue leggings.

Flowers for Algernon, Daniel Keyes (Harcourt)

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When she put me off, I felt ashamed and ridiculous at the same time. It made me angry with myself and I pulled back to my side of the seat and stared out the window. I hated her as I had never hated anyone before--with her easy answers and maternal fussing. I wanted to slap her face, to make her crawl, and then to hold her in my arms and kiss her.

He sat in the top row of the bleachers, his foot tapping mindlessly off beat. The boy below him rested an elbow on his sneaker, bending his head back. "Dude." He hugged his knees under his chin, drumming his fingers along his shins and watched her. This morning, she'd smelled of musk and sleep; but, tonight, she lingered of marshmallow and the faint strawberry of a shared cooler in the parking lot.

She was beyond side-stepping, into movements that accentuated her hips, her shoulders popping. This was why he never came to the dances. He didn't want to know this. All around her boys were gathering, gliding through stolen choreography, their skinny ties tucked into their skinny jeans under a mismatched shirt and sweater vest. She was pretty. She smiled a lot. She was good in English, he wasn't. He was good in math, she wasn't. They complimented one another. He didn't want to know this.

He tried again to find the bass, rocking his head until the boy told him again that if he didn't stop, "I'm gonna fuckin' pound you, yo." Finally, he rose, taking the rows two at a time and landed on the edge of light and dance floor. He shoved his hands into his pockets and slid through the crowd, just to the side of her and started to move, slowly at first, then with confidence. He felt her back at his and he drew his hands from his pockets, tiny fists gunning the gym floor. He rose his arms above his waist, past his chest, over his head, and lost the only chance he'd ever had.