"Maybe the first time you saw her you were ten. She was standin' in the sun scratchin' her legs. Or tracin' letters in the dirt with a stick. Her hair was being pulled. Or she was pullin' someone's hair. And a part of you was drawn to her, and a part of you resisted--wantin' to ride off on your bicycle, kick a stone, remain uncomplicated. In the same breath you felt the strength of a man, and a self-pity that made you feel small and hurt. Part of you thought: Please don't look at me. If you don't, I can still turn away. And part of you thought: Look at me."