When she was eleven she was second in line for the playground drinking fountain. In front of her, Michael Alter leaned forward to get a drink. She loved Michael Alter, worshipped at the Michael Alter daily. She moved closer, heart pounding, focused only on the red and black plaid of his twelve year old back. The bell rang. End of recess. There was jostling and shoving. She felt herself propelled forward. Her face disappeared deep into the checkered wool of Michael Alter's back. Be still my heart. In slow, slow motion, Michael Alter's handsome face slammed into the metal spigot. There was blood.