There she sits, in front of the mirror, staring, waiting. Her hair wet and uncombed. I pick up the brush and I begin to comb through her hair, gently,...until I get the wet tangles straightened. Stroke after stroke, her eyes are closed, a mild swoon in her manner. Such attention, no man has paid to her before. Soon her hair begins to dry. How long have I been brushing? It seems like a moment but perhaps an hour has passed. No matter, we are both lost in the act of intimacy. I set the brush aside. My specialisation is rhythmic gymnastics, my favouritediscipline being with the ribbon, and after I demonstrate my routine forthe rest of the class I receive a standing ovation from all of myleotard-clad teammates."Brilliant, Laura," Mrs. Hall says. "Okay, Nicole, you're next." I take aseat, giggling at the feel of the cold wooden floor against my barethighs, as Nicole performs her routine. Whilst last year, Nicole didrhythmic gymnastics like myself and Suriya, this year, for some reason,she's. More

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