For the Rest of Our Lives

Sally starts to wear shorts again when it's hot out. She looks cute in them; denim with a flower pattern decorating them. The girls in school are starting to notice the boys, but the boys still think we all have cooties. I still think they have cooties as well anyway. Sally says she doesn't know if they still do or not, for her. I give her a sour look but she only laughs back at me.

There's one boy though, who doesn't think we have cooties: Timmy, one of the kids we've now grouped as a popular kid. He tells Sally that her shorts are cute. He bravely asks her to be his girlfriend. It doesn't make much sense to me. Sally may be beautiful, but we don't even know the kid really.

"I'll think about it," Sally says to him. We're standing by our lockers, and Timmy is focused solely on her. I can feel myself glaring daggers at him. Sally on the other hand is giving him a small smile. She twirls a lock of her hair between her fingers.

"Okay, cool," Timmy grins back at her. "Don't take too long though. Give me an answer by the end of the week." I don't like the way he's given her a time limit on making her decision. Sally doesn't seem to mind.

"I will," Sally calls to him as he walks away. He waves at her without looking back. I definitely don't like this kid.

"Are you sure?" I ask Sally. "I don't like him."

"You don't have to like him," Sally says. She raises one of her eyebrows at me. "He asked me out, not you."

"Whatever," I shake my head and roll my eyes. We make our way to class.

At the end of the day, after school is over and we're back at my house playing in the yard, Sally stops me as I'm making a smiley face out of rocks. Her hand closes around my wrist. She's staring back at me when I look up at her.

"I've changed my mind," she says. I furrow my brows at her. "I don't like that boy either."

"Oh, okay," I say and nod. She lets go of my wrist and begins to help me with making the smiley face out of rocks. I feel... triumphant. I can't wait for tomorrow, when she tells Timmy that she's decided not to be his girlfriend.

Why do we even need boyfriends right now, anyway? We're only in 6th grade. Sally's shorts ride up a bit, and a bruise that seems ever present on the inside of her thigh is revealed. I'm old enough now to think it looks like the shape of a hand.

"Sally," I say. My stare is locked on the bruise. Sally doesn't look up at me, starting now to make little stick figures out of leftover rocks.

"Yeah?" she asks.

I think about it for a minute. She would talk about it if she wanted to.

"Never mind," I say. I take my gaze off the bruise and focus on helping her with the stick figures.

"Okay," Sally says with her brow raised once more.