Ugh! It sounded like I was speaking through my nose,and I was frequently pausing for breath. I just couldn't bear the sound. I kept cringing."Luke! ...Sit still and don't make faces," snapped Pa.I sat back in my seat, eyes close, fuming. Damn you, Pa. I just mighterase the lesson, I thought to myself, knowing I'd never work up the nerveto actually do it.After Pa left for work, Ruth told me, "Ma's not taking us to Bikini Beachtoday. Instead, Helen's mom's coming to pick us up." Helen was. I was breathing strangely and stood beside him looking down at the book. “This is the writing of Walt Whitman,” he said, “and much of his poetry is about love and feelings…read this part.” I leaned over to look at the words and his arm went around my waist. It was warm and I wiggled very slightly and began to read the poem about men and women and “feeling myself…alive” and Mr. Emerson was rubbing my back. “What do you think,” he asked. “It’s nice,” I said, not knowing what else to say and. More

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