ling walls were gasping for a new coat of paint。 Dan and
his father and sister rarely threw anything away； either； so the sagging furniture and scratched
wooden floors were strewn with old newspapers and magazines； out…of…print books； inplete
decks of cards； used batteries； and unsharpened pencils。 It was the kind of place where your coffee
got cat hair in it the minute you poured it； which was a problem Dan dealt with constantly because
he was pletely addicted to caffeine。
？Do you want me to face the camera？？ he asked； sitting down on his worn wooden desk chair
and swiveling it toward Vanessa。 ？I could hold the notebook in my lap and write like this；？ he
demonstrated。
Vanessa knelt down and squinted through the camera lens。 She was wearing her gray pleated
Constance Billard uniform with black tights； and the brown shag carpet felt bristly against her
knees。 ？Yes； that？s nice；？ she murmured。 Oh； just look how pale and smooth Dan？s chest was！ She
could see every rib； and that nice line of tawny peach fuzz that ran up his belly to his navel！ She
inched forward on her knees； trying to get as close as possible without ruining the frame。
Dan bit the end of his pen； smiled to himself； and then wrote；She？s got a shaved head； she wears
black all the time； she needs a new pair of bat boots； and she hates to wear makeup。 But she？s
the kind of girl who believes in you and secretly gets your best poem published in The New
Yorker。 I guess you could say I love her。
It was probably the corniest thing he？d ever written； but it wasn？t like he was going to publish it
in his ？Greatest Works？ or anything。
Vanessa inched forward some more； trying to cap