My Butterfly

she said, while shaking her head and stepping into the classroom.
    “We’ll see who’s laughing when you’re eating my lasagna for dinner one night,” I said.
    She glanced up at me and smiled that sideways smile that I was already starting to crave.
    “You know, I just can’t see that happening,” she said.
    “Me cooking lasagna?” I asked.
    “No,” she said.
    I could only see the side of her face now, but I could see that her lips were slowly turning up. I was thinking about how I could trick her into letting me hold her hand again some time.
    “I don’t see me eating it,” she continued, taking a seat in a desk near the front of the small room.
    “But there’s still hope for the dinner—well, minus the eating part?” I asked, hopeful.
    She gave me an impatient look again. And suddenly, a loud ring made me jump, and my eyes darted to a clanging bell right above my head.
    Julia giggled, and at the same time, opened a notebook to its first page. I stood there watching her for a second longer. She did look different, as if she had grown up overnight or something, but then she looked exactly the same too. Her hair was down, and it was wavy or curly or whatever girls call it—that about her hadn’t changed. Even at eight years old, she had had that same pretty, long, blond hair, that same perfect nose and those same pretty, green eyes.
    A thought suddenly came to me then, and I quickly tore off a piece of my own notebook paper and scribbled a sentence onto its tiny surface.
    “Jules,” I said, getting her attention one, last time.
    She looked up at me, kind of startled, as if I had called her by a secret alias or something. She looked cute the way she always tried to act impatient with me.
    “Hey,” I said, tapping a kid I had known since kindergarten on the shoulder. “Pass this to Julia, that girl in the black shirt, would ya?”
    The boy dutifully followed my request and reached across a row to hand Julia the piece of scrap paper. I watched her open the folded note, and then, I watched her eyes follow over the words. But before she had a chance to look up again, I disappeared back into the hallway.
    I figured I would give her some time to think about her answer. The last thing I wanted was a rash decision based on a somewhat rocky childhood. God, if I knew then what I know now, I probably still would have thrown rocks at her. It was fun hearing her scream. But I also would have kissed her—knowing that I probably could have gotten away with it then. I could have easily blamed it on being a stupid kid.
    And come to think of it, there is actually a quote by George Bernard Shaw that has hung in my grandpa’s store for God only knows how long. I never really paid attention to it. It hung on a plaque in the corner, probably had a couple of layers of dust on it. I thought about it now, as I made my short journey to the home economics room. And I thought of all of the years I had wasted not chasing after Julia Lang—well, at least not chasing after her in a more productive manner. Youth is wasted on the young, the old quote said. I didn’t know much of anything about this Shaw guy, but he did get at least one thing right—I should have kissed her when I had the chance. God only knows how long I’ve got to chase this girl.

Chapter Two
    The Volleyball
     
     
    “A re you looking for something, Jules?” I asked as I watched her push aside the heavy stage curtain.
    Her face turned back toward me and then quickly went back to the stage. She didn’t look startled this time, and I wondered for a second if she had already gotten used to me calling her Jules.
    “My volleyball,” she said, annoyed. “I left it here after P.E., and now it’s gone, and I promised Jeff I’d meet him after class and help him with algebra…”
    “Jeff?” I blurted out, as I twisted the features of my face into a puzzled expression.
    She stopped and glanced back at me again before returning her attention to a box of rubber balls.
    “Yeah, he’s having a hard time, and we’ve got a test coming up,” she casually said. “He asked me to help him figure it out, and I’m supposed to meet him in ten minutes, and I can’t find…”
    “Figure out algebra?” I interrupted again.
    She caught my stare, furrowed her eyebrows and then went back to doing whatever it was she was doing.
    “Yeah,” she said.
    I shook my head.
    “Jeff doesn’t need help with algebra,” I exclaimed. “He was the smar…”
    I stopped