Dramatic As She Is

The two children, a boy and a girl in the throes of adolescence, sat on the green grass and let their bare toes dangle into the gurgling creek.

She smiled, “My sickness grows upon me.”

“Janey,” he sighed, “Can we not talk about your toe fungus? It’s gross.”

All fluttering eyelashes and pouty lips, she cooed, “So true, my good boy.”

Fishing a scrap of lined paper out of his pocket he chided, “Jeez, why do you always have to be so dramatic?”

“Cause I’m a girl, dummy.” She allowed him a moment then challenged, “What paper were you reading?”

The note tucked safely away he stared forward, “Nothing.”

“Was it from Eve Weller?”


“Did she ask you to the dance on paper? I mean, made she no verbal question?”

He narrowed his eyes, “You have to talk weird, don’t you? You can’t just ask a normal question?”

“Sir, you speak nobly,” she intoned, hand upon delicate breast, “Shall I ask simply if you would go to the dance with me instead?”

He swallowed. His heart skipped. Palms moistened.

“God, yes.”

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