My name is Carl Walker, and, like Karen, I'm a junior. I know her, but not well - we're on different academic tracks, have different extracurriculars and move in different social circles, though I suppose our pictures will be side by side in the yearbook - Wagner, Walker?.I know I'm seen as a bit of a nerd. I'm a geek, I admit it. I'm on the fast track to college, probably physics. I'm five foot eleven, and still growing (I hope), on the skinny side, maybe 150 pounds, blond hair, blue eyes.Anyway, at the same time Karen was called into the principal's office and made to strip, I was called into Miss Mitchell's office. She's the Assistant Principal, not someone that I'd had much to do with. Oh, I'd seen her around, said "Hi" to her a few times. She was very formal. It was always "Hello, Mr. Walker," from her, never "Hi, Carl," or just "Hi."But it's a formal school. Respect is emphasized all the way around. Something to do with minimizing violence or something, but to all the teachers. ” he pauses, expecting me finish his sentence.I don’t do it. I glance at her breasts, remembering the first time I saw them, tumbling out of bra I undid with her laying above me. When she briefly pretended she belonged to someone else. Transitional phase before she’d ever felt my belt.He waits for ... something. Neither of us gives it to him.“I just don’t want there to be,” he starts again. “ ... hard feelings.”I swirl the bourbon in the glass. Look down at it. Hear her breath under the music. I can always hear her breathe. It’s the heartbeat in every conversation we’ve ever had. I see her scrunch her toes on the carpet, most likely cold. And anxious.Can we just speak plain?“Don’t worry about that at all,” I reassure him. “I want this to happen. Please accept this as a gesture of my friendship.” My glass wishes him salut.We’re playing for the same teamThe only woman I’ve ever loved takes his hand and he willingly follows her buttocks towards the stairs. At the base of the stairwell.
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