Free Planet Urth by Jennifer Martucci, Christopher Martucci Page B

idiot but cannot imagine leaving.  I want nothing more than to march right over to the family and introduce myself.  I want to be close to the older boy for reasons I cannot explain.  But the idea of it seems much easier than actually doing it.  In fact, when I picture myself going there and speaking to him, when I try to build my courage, my stomach clenches and I feel nauseated.  I feel shaky and cold despite the sweltering heat.  Still, I know I must go there and overcome the intense nerves. 
    I take another step closer, away from the bush.  As I do, a man comes up behind the boy . My legs feel spongy.  He is about the same height and has identical coloring.  He claps the boy on the back, then rubs his hand on top of his head playfully, messing it further.  If it is possible, his mussed hair looks better still.  He turns toward the older man and gives a lopsided smile.  I find myself smiling along with them.  I cannot hear what they are saying to each other, but the exchange seems playful, loving even.  I assume the man is his father, and I am struck with a pang of jealousy so sharp I clutch my chest.  The boy, the man and woman and the children are a family; an entire family intact.  I did not know such a thing was possible.  June and I were not as lucky. 
    I shift my weight from one leg to the next and a branch snaps loudly beneath my foot.  Everyone near the lake looks up.  Blood rushes to my cheeks and burns there.  Then it gets worse.  The boy takes off and runs toward me.  He is charging for the bush I am standing behind. 
    For a moment, I cannot move.  I am utterly frozen.  But his fast-approaching footfalls force me to act, to move.  I stumble backward, then scramble behind a young spruce tree.  The boy stops at the bush I was just hiding behind.  My heart is hammering so hard I worry he can hear it.  I can see him clearly now.  He is close, too close, a fact that steals the air from my lungs.  I watch him, my body trembling with unfamiliar nervousness. 
    His eyes are a brilliant blue-green, pale, like tropical water I once saw in a picture, and his hair is as dark as a raven’s feathers.  He is near enough for me to make my presence known to him, and him alone.  I know I should step out, yet all I can think is that I am dirty.  My clothes are filthy from the hike and sweat coats my skin.  But he is sparkling like a gem and I am a grubby stone. 
    The knocking in my chest stut ters.  My shoulders curl forward.  I realize I do not want to be seen.  I feel something I have never felt before.  I feel self-conscious, ashamed of the way I look. 
    When the boy moves from the bush back toward the lake, I run away. 
    “Hey , come back!” A voice calls out that makes goose bumps emerge on my skin.  It is him.  It is the boy.  He has seen me.  “Why are you running?” 
    Heat blazes up my neck and sets my face afire.  Hot tears burn down my cheeks and blow back into my hair.  I do not know what I am more embarrassed about, the fact that I chickened out and ran from him, or the fact that he saw me looking as I do. 
    I hear fa st footsteps gaining on me, but I do not stop.  I am humiliated.  I wish I were braver.  I wish I were cleaner.  But I am neither.  And I do not want to meet him like this.  I push myself and move quickly, disappearing into the woods. 
    I run toward the cave, back in the direction I hiked from, until the landscape becomes too tangled to run.  I slow then stop and listen.  I do not hear the rustle and crunch of footfalls atop brush and feel confident I am no t being followed.  I crouch and catch my breath, and silently scold myself for running away.  Finding other human beings is everything June and I have ever hoped for.  I failed her.  I failed myself.  I have no idea what came over me.  I have faced off with boarts and other wild animals.  I have seen death and destruction that haunts my days and nights, yet talking to the