there, the dirty mags I’d hidden so Mum and Dad wouldn’t find them. I’d been so afraid of being discovered. And now…
I grabbed a handful of magazines and shoved them into the bag, my eyes stinging, my vision blurred. The pages were slippery, and one of the magazines slid out of my hands, spilling onto the floor. Naughty Bits. I picked it up, flipping through, remembering how many times I’d come out to this shed to look at these pictures, imagining what it might be like to be with a woman like this.
There… there was the page. Dawn’s writing in the margin, fat and curly with a heart over the “i”: “She looks like me.”
She really did.
I tore the page out, folding it carefully, and put it into my back pocket. Then I finished bagging the rest, swiping at my eyes before tossing the heavy bag into the bin with the rest of the rubbish.
