All the kissing going on under & atop the bleachers,no wonder everyone caught mono–all except Mazie, virgin at every erotic orifice–or hole Gran would say. Lips tender with longing, Mazie smooches her forearm & wonders how come the fireworks?

Gran scrimped an entire year for Mazie’s New Year dress, a dangerously low-cut sheath of motile silver shimmering with every breath, a whole-body hug to deliver her into a boy’s arms. Any boy could play crash-dummy if he held back the drool.