Her face invited swan dives, her blue eyes made him want to strap on fins, mask, oxygen tank. She was licking a cherry Popsicle. Her tongue was red and shiny. They were in the lunch area, sitting Indian style on the pavement. He reached into his brown bag, pulled out a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. For most of his 11 years he'd been a cut-off-the-crusts kind of kid, but no more. Not since they'd started eating lunch together everyday. She licked, licked, licked, then chomped the tip off the Popsicle. A wild mustang whinnied in South Dakota. A bush elephant whipped its trunk in Tanzania. A sword fish breached in the South Atlantic. He studied her face, her perfect skin. He peeled apart his sandwich. He wanted to tell her something big, something infinite. Instead, he brought the two sides of the sandwich to her cheeks, pressed hard, and planted a kiss on her cherry mouth.