Walking out the door, he stopped to kiss me. It was a real kiss, too — one that had in it, well, not love, exactly, but something close to it. The ...ext 36 hours were a blur. I could not stop thinking about him. I picked up a book but dropped it after 10 minutes, unable to concentrate. I tried working on a long-postponed house project, fixing some loose stairs coming off the deck, but gave up after mashing my thumb with a hammer. I turned on the TV but paid it little attention, staring blankly. He said that if I did what he suggested at our sessions, he was sure I'd have an A at the end of the year." "Are you telling me what I think you're telling me?" There was a note of incredulity in Claire's voice. "Right on, child. If I wanted to make an A under the good Mr. Perkins, I had to spend every Saturday, for the rest of the damn school year, under Mr. Perkins." There was a strained silence until Claire asked, "So what did you do? I mean, did you report him or, or what?" "Well, I'm here. More

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