, I will admit—I did feel sort of happy, to receive a copy of that important e-mail from the brave little clique of Wantabe's. I guess they're hopin... for a good turnout, I thought. Even after all these years, because of their thoughtless cruelty, I still felt a trace of bitterness.Smokey Joe (I'm not going to tell you his real name), and I had one thing in common back then—we had both spent our high school years on the outside, looking in.Smokey had transferred in from Butler High School in our. "Recite thepoem again," he asked--or ordered; it could have been a request or acommand--"the one you call 'The Gift.'" Why?" I want to hear it."Wasn't it enough to leave me stranded on the side of a fucking mountain,my dignity in tatters? I wanted to scream at him. Isn't it sufficientto reject and abandon me, after knowing how I feel--or felt--about you? Instead, my voice atremble with fear and sorrow and the wish, stillfervent in my heart, that things could have turned out differentlybetween. More

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