Sixty-three eyes stare.
Bobby Turner has a big white patch
over one where a baseball hit him
yesterday that everyone wants to
look under, even Bobby.
I feel my cheeks burn.
Everywhere I look I see eyes.
Except when I look at Bobby,
then I see one eye and a big white patch.
Maybe he has a patch on to keep his
eyeball from rolling out of his head
onto the floor.
The floor is dusty and tiled and hard.
My heels hurt and my palms are wet.
Mrs. Bixby clears her throat.
It sounds like my Mom
trying to drive Dad's car.
He calls it a standard.
Mom calls it other things.
I just said one of those things
when I walked in six minutes late
to Mrs. Bixby's home room
after I looked down and discovered
that I had no clothes on.
So now sixty three eyes
(and a big white patch)
stare at me in amazement.
I think that something besides a ball hit Bobby.
He gets angry and blushes when the other
kids ask him.
I don't think I will.
My Mom is gonna be mad
because she has to drive up here in
Dad's car to pick me up.
I swear I had clothes on when she dropped
me off this morning.
I'm almost positive.
I think I just said another word.
Le Jongleur Aspirante
[This message has been edited by Alicat (edited 06-22-99).]