Tweety’s bedroom isn't very big.  He has a twin bed with camoflauge sheets and his walls are painted tan.  There is a framed picture of a brown and white duck wearing sunglasses and swimming in pink water hanging on the wall.  His toys are put away neatly into labeled bins that rest on a wooden shelf, Tweety says he doesn’t play with toys anymore.  We build a fort on his road-map rug that he drove his hot-wheels on.  We use chairs from the kitchen and drape a brown blanket over the top of them.  The chairs aren’t much taller than us, though, and my ponytail gets all messed up.  
    “Let’s play boyfriend and girlfriend” he says, scooting closer so that our knees are touching, I think that I should have shaved my legs.  I nod my head, not knowing what this game will be like. We are gonna be in sixth grade next year at Southwest Middle School, the halls are lined with lockers and I imagine myself leaning against mine holding Tweety’s hand and blush. Tweety pointed to a corner of the fort and said “Cook my dinner! I’m gonna watch football in the livin room.” and turned around. I bring him a plate and sit down on the floor beside him.  Tweety doesn’t even look at his food, instead he says “Hey Katie, if you show me yours I’ll show you mine” and reaches for the zipper on his pants.  I start to cry and bust out of the fort. I search the swirling room of tans and browns for my shoes, and think that my cheeks must have looked like the water in the duck picture.  
    Tweety grabs my arm and tells me to stay.  “Stop cryin.” He commands and after a minute I do.  He tells me to get back in the fort with him.  I think about the girl who came to talk to our class last year, the one who said the man tied her up with weed eater string, and made her wash his back.  I was glad I wasn’t that girl.

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