Her name was Liz Siegel. I had just entered middle school and she caught my eye during recess when she seductively fell off the monkey bars and onto the class dog. We would exchange the kind of private notes that would lead to embarrassment if they were intercepted by the cafeteria workers we were planning to “pants.” We would share wordless lunches over Capri Sun juice packs and laugh at teachers who smelled funny or succumbed to pneumonia. Every Saturday night, we would arrange a secret meeting at the local mall’s Sbarros where we would eat a few slices and then retire to the dumpster behind Payless Shoes for an extended make-out session. It was beautiful. It wouldn’t last forever – we both accepted that – but even at the tender age of...
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- 2/15/2012
- by Joe Piccirillo
- Movies.com
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