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l recently

I'd have said with absolute certainty that he was

greater—far greater—than the sum of his parts。 What he did to my heart was sheer;

inexplicable magic。

But inexplicable was the operative word here。 And as I looked across the room at him during

math; I couldn't help feeling crushed all over again

about how he'd thrown out my eggs。 What kind of person would do that?

Then he looked my way and smiled; and my heart lurched。 But I was mad at myself for it。

How could I still feel this way after what he'd done?

I avoided him the rest of the day; but by the end of school there was a tornado inside me;

tearing me up from one end to the other。 I jumped on my

bike and rode home faster than I ever had before。 The right pedal clanked against the chain

guard; and the whole bike rattled and squeaked;

threatening to collapse into a pile of rusty parts。

The tornado; however; was still going strong when I skidded to a halt in our driveway。 So I

transferred pedal power into painting power。 I pried

open the gallon of Navajo White my dad had bought me and started slopping paint around。

Chet appeared about ten minutes later。 “My;” he laughed; “you've got an enviable amount of

energy today; don't you?”

“No;” I said; brushing back some hair with the back of my hand; “I'm just mad。”

He produced his own brush and an empty coffee can。 “Uhoh。 Who at?”

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