The first day I met Bryce Loski, I flipped. Honestly, one look at him and I became a lunatic. It's his eyes. Something in his eyes. They're blue, and framed in the blackness of his lashes, they're dazzling. Absolutely breathtaking. It's been over six years now, and I learned long ago to hide my feelings, but oh, those first days. Those first years! I thought I would die for wanting to be with him. Two days before the second grade is when it started, although the anticipation began weeks before — ever since my mother had told me that there was a family with a boy my age moving into the new house right across the street. ... cut ... When the Loskis' moving van finally arrived, everyone in my family was happy. "Little Julianna" was finally going to have a playmate. ... cut ... I was too excited not to charge across the street, but I did try very hard to be civilized once I got to the moving van. I stood outside looking in for a record-breaking length of time, which was hard because there he was! About halfway back! My new sure-to-be best friend, Bryce Loski. Bryce wasn't really doing much of anything. He was more hanging back, watching his father move boxes onto the liftgate. I remember feeling sorry for Mr. Loski because he looked worn out, moving boxes all by himself. I also remember that he and Bryce were wearing matching turquoise polo shirts, which I thought was really cute. Really nice. When I couldn't stand it any longer, I called, "Hi!" into the van, which made Bryce jump, and then quick as a cricket, he started pushing a box like he'd been working all along. I could tell from the way Bryce was acting so guilty that he was supposed to be moving boxes, but he was sick of it. He'd probably been moving things for days! It was easy to see that he needed a rest. He needed some juice! Something. It was also easy to see that Mr. Loski wasn't about to let him quit. He was going to keep on moving boxes around until he collapsed, and by then Bryce might be dead. Dead before he'd had the chance to move in! The tragedy of it catapulted me into the moving van. I had to help! I had to save him! When I got to his side to help him shove a box forward, the poor boy was so exhausted that he just moved aside and let me take over. Mr. Loski didn't want me to help, but at least I saved Bryce. I'd been in the moving van all of three minutes when his dad sent him off to help his mother unpack things inside the house. I chased Bryce up the walkway, and that's when everything changed. You see, I caught up to him and grabbed his arm, trying to stop him so maybe we could play a little before he got trapped inside, and the next thing I know he's holding my hand, looking right into my eyes. My heart stopped. It just stopped beating. And for the first time in my life, I had that feeling. You know, like the world is moving all around you, all beneath you, all inside you, and you're floating. Floating in midair. And the only thing keeping you from drifting away is the other person's eyes. They're connected to yours by some invisible physical force, and they hold you fast while the rest of the world swirls and twirls and falls completely away. I almost got my first kiss that day. I'm sure of it. But then his mother came out the front door and he was so embarrassed that his cheeks turned completely red, and the next thing you know he's hiding in the bathroom.

All I've ever wanted is for Juli Baker to leave me alone. For her to back off — you know, just give me some space. It all started the summer before second grade when our moving van pulled into her neighborhood. And since we're now about done with the eigth grade, that, my friend, makes more than half a decade of strategic avoidance and social discomfort. She didn't just barge into my life. She barged and shoved and wedged her way into my life. She barged and shoved and wedged her way into my life. Did we invite her to get into our moving van and start climbing all over boxes? No! But that's exactly what she did, taking over and showing off like only Juli Baker can. My dad tried to stop her. "Hey!" he says as she's catapulting (*读错词，此为[ˈkætəˌpʌlt]) herself on board. "What are you doing? You're getting mud everywhere." So true, too. Her shoes were, like, caked with the stuff. She didn't hop out, though. Instead, she planted her rear end on the floor and started pushing a big box with her feet. "Don't you want some help?" She glanced my way. "It sure looks like you need it." I didn't like the implication. And even though my dad had been tossing me the same sort of look all week, I could tell — he didn't like this girl either. "Hey! Don't do that," he warned her. "There are some really valuable things in that box." "Oh. Well, how about this one?" She scoots over to a box labeled LENOX and looks my way again. "We should push it together!" "No, no, no!" my dad says, then pulls her up by the arm. "Why don't you run along home? Your mother's probably wondering where you are." This was the beginning of my soon-to-become-acute awareness that the girl cannot take a hint. Of any kind. Does she zip on home like a kid should when they've been invited to leave? No. She says, "Oh, my mom knows where I am. She said it was fine." Then she points across the street and says, "We just live right over there." My father looks to where she's pointing and mutters, "Oh, boy." Then he looks at me and winks as he says, "Bryce, isn't it time for you to go inside and help your mother?" I know right off that this was a ditch play. And I didn't think about it until later, but ditch wasn't a play I'd run with my dad before. Face it, pulling a ditch is not something discussed with dads. It's like, against parental law to tell your kid it's okay to ditch someone, no matter how annoying or muddy they might be. But there he was, putting the play in motion, and man, he didn't have to wink twice. I smiled and said, "Sure thing!" then jumped off the liftgate and headed for my new front door. I heard her coming after me but I couldn't believe it. Maybe it just sounded like she was chasing me; maybe she was really going the other way. But before I got up the nerve to look, she blasted right past me, grabbing my arm and yanking me along. This was too much. I planted myself and was about to tell her to get lost when the weirdest thing happened. I was making this big windmill motion to break away from her, but somehow on the downswing my hand wound up tangling into hers. I couldn't believe it. There I was, holding the mud monkey's hand! I tried to shake her off, but she just clamped on tight and yanked me along, saying, "C'mon!" My mom came out of the house and immediately got the world's sappiest look on her face. "Well, hello," she says to Juli. "Hi!" I'm still trying to pull free, but the girl's got me in a death grip. My mom's grinning, looking at our hands and my fiery red face. "And what's your name, honey?" "Julianna Baker. I live right over there," she says, pointing with her unoccupied hand. "Well, I see you've met my son," she says, still grinning away. "Uh-huh!" Finally I break free and do the only manly thing available when you're seven years old — I dive behind my mother.