My most educational class in junior high was the pre-algebra class I took in seventh grade. I hear from my brother that now there's a pre-algebra class just for seventh graders, but back in my day, we were just stuck into the eighth-grade classes, four or five of us at a time. So that was how little twelve-year-old Francie, in her first year of junior high, ended up sitting behind Monte Spencer and his friend Ollie. I thought Monte was one of the cutest eighth-grade guys on earth, and clearly, other girls thought so, too, because Monte was continually telling Ollie about his new conquests. Monte always told his stories in great detail, and occasionally illustrated his words with memorable gestures. I can still see him in my mind, holding two fingers in the air, cocked and waiting.

Luckily, I already knew how to do algebra, or else I'd have failed that class-- I spent all my time listening in to Monte and Ollie's conversations. Now that I think about it, Monte was probably telling all his stories particularly for my benefit, to shock me, but my memory is blurry and all I know for sure is that he seemed to whisper to Ollie, but always loud enough for me to hear.

Sometimes I like to think that when I was younger, I was this innocent, pure little girl but maybe that innocent little girl never existed past age ten. I’m not sure exactly when she went away. In books, there’s often a specific scene that represents the main character’s passage, Eve-like, from innocence to knowledge. Literature depends on that moment of understanding, needs the plot to reach a recognizable climax for the reader to feel satisfied. But real life steals your innocence away from you in little pieces.

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