I awoke that particular morning with a question in my mind— Am I going to make it? I lay there for a while, considering, almost afraid to test myself. Then, very slowly, I sat up. Nothing happened. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and hoisted myself gingerly to my feet. Still, nothing. The room remained stable. My stomach didn't leap and lurch. My mouth tasted normal. So, Mother had been right after all, and the dreadful bout the day before had been nothing more than one of those twenty-four-hour viruses! It was over. I was well. I would be able to start school. I crossed the room, wobbling a little with that leftover weakness that always follows a round of stomach flu, and went out onto the balcony. It was like stepping into a bath of golden light; the sunlight seemed to be pouring in from every direction. Overhead the sky was a radiant, piercing blue, and the salt breeze still smelled like summer. The water was so calm and clear I felt as though I could look straight down through it to the sand floor below. How impossible that fall was officially here! In every girl's life, I guess, there must be one special summer that is a turning point, a time of stretching and reaching and blossoming out and leaving childhood behind. This was the summer that had happened to me. The year before, I had been awkward and gawky, all pointed knees and sharp elbows and bony rib cage, hiding my shyness behind a book while girls like Natalie Coleson and Darlene Briggs wriggled around in their bikinis and got boys to buy them Cokes and rub them with baby oil. This summer it had all been different. The first day I walked out onto the beach, clutching my book and my beach towel, I heard a wolf whistle. 8
I awoke that particular morning with a question in my mind— Am I going to make it? I lay there for a while, considering, almost afraid to test myself. Then, very slowly, I sat up. Nothing happened. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and hoisted myself gingerly to my feet. Still, nothing. The room remained stable. My stomach didn't leap and lurch. My mouth tasted normal. So, Mother had been right after all, and the dreadful bout the day before had been nothing more than one of those twenty-four-hour viruses! It was over. I was well. I would be able to start school. I crossed the room, wobbling a little with that leftover weakness that always follows a round of stomach flu, and went out onto the balcony. It was like stepping into a bath of golden light; the sunlight seemed to be pouring in from every direction. Overhead the sky was a radiant, piercing blue, and the salt breeze still smelled like summer. The water was so calm and clear I felt as though I could look straight down through it to the sand floor below. How impossible that fall was officially here! In every girl's life, I guess, there must be one special summer that is a turning point, a time of stretching and reaching and blossoming out and leaving childhood behind. This was the summer that had happened to me. The year before, I had been awkward and gawky, all pointed knees and sharp elbows and bony rib cage, hiding my shyness behind a book while girls like Natalie Coleson and Darlene Briggs wriggled around in their bikinis and got boys to buy them Cokes and rub them with baby oil. This summer it had all been different. The first day I walked out onto the beach, clutching my book and my beach towel, I heard a wolf whistle. 8