‘I mean,’ I stammered, ‘of all the wishes you could have wished… why this? Of all the guys you could have picked… why me?’ She smiled agai... in that unmistakably feline fashion of hers, and I sensed that she was readying herself for another untried task: human speech. The words came from deep within, and she spoke in a typically unhurried, languid fashion. ‘Because…’ she said, and her smile grew wider. ‘Because… I like… the way… you scratch my tummy.’ The words were in some ways so ridiculous,. But those of us who'd rather be playing ball and climbing trees found each other soon enough. One of them -- a girl from a school across town -- told me that I was a born cheerleader."Fuck that," I said, but thought about it for a second. "Really? Me, a cheerleader?" Damn right," she said, handing me her cigarette as we talked in the privacy of the delivery bay of the arena that was hosting our particular competition. I remembered her name was Melissa Tate; I met her again a few years later at. More

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