She caught the creature’s skin against the distant halogen light, and it seemed to have multiple legs—eight or so—and each leg appeared wet, but hairless.Not damp—wet, soaking wet, like the skin glistens immediately after one emerges from the ocean, on the beach during a sunny day.?And were it not for the clicking of the creature’s feet, paws—whatever—against the street, which Laura was able to follow with her ears to the side of the road, she would have been able to presume it a figment of her imagination.Where to go? Laura wanted to look over her shoulder, gauge the distance between she and Jamie. This was a bad idea. She didn’t have a license, but driving a car couldn’t be rocket science. The lump in her throat refused to disperse.Her face flush with blood, Laura began to walk again. Not all the sweat that coated her body was from the jog. These weren’t squirrels she heard rustling the leaves on either side of the road, not anymore anyway. There was something there, something. Aunt Judy and Uncle Fred were worried about me, questioning Jackie about what we had been up to and watching me sometimes with concerned eyes. So I tried to act better around them. But I felt really sad and broken, the worst I'd ever felt about a boy.Gradually, though, I began to lighten up. After all, Peter had promised to write, and we didn't live that far apart. Maybe it would all be okay, I told myself. I looked forward to going home and writing to Peter.For several months after school started, I was pretty down on boys. Peter had never answered my second letter, and my heart was broken, for the first time. I had a few dates, but nothing serious.Then the Christmas dance came along, and I just had to go. It was the first big dance of the year in my first year in high school. So, when Roger Fry asked me, and there was nobody else I particularly wanted to go with, I accepted. And had a great time. Isn't that always the way? Things seem to work best when you expect the least.Although.
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