“Don’t,” I ordered, “even think about it, kid!”
He threw the mudball at a pigeon. I brushed myself off. Photography is a dangerous passion, not for the fainthearted.
I started running again and the ooze kept dripping as Jonathan fluttered in the deep places of my heart. I was flying by the seat of my designer jeans; Stieglitz was at my heels. I passed a really cute guy in a metallic-blue jacket and gave him only a fleeting glance because there’s a lot more to life than genetic perfection. A blue mist broke through the gray sky, unleashing streams of pure sunshine, and I knew that Jonathan was watching me. He was there like a little sunbeam brightening everything I did.
I flopped on the steps of Petrocelli’s Poultry and lifted my face to the warm, filtered light.
Maturity sure has its moments.
Books by
JOAN BAUER
Backwater
Best Foot Forward
Rules of the Road
Squashed
Stand Tall
Sticks