Back in second grade, Harvey and I made a list of the places we loved best.  At the top of mine was the library.  I couldn't imagine a better life than one that offered story time at all hours of the day.  His favorite spot was my dinner table.  He wasn't used to sit-down meals, and he said he liked that we always had edectible appetizers.  That's how it was written on the paper: "edectible," which was a hybrid of "edible" and "delectable" I think.  My mom kept the list when she found it in my backpack that night, and we still have it.  Fortunately, she doesn't know that eight years later, Harvey tried kissing me in the library.  Our teenage angst had dominated a rather uneventful Friday night and driven us through the lower level windows, cracking a pane of glass when the latch slipped and the window fell.  It made us nervous, and we regretted our rash decision, but I laughed and pressed into the gloom of the vacated basement.  Harvey followed me.  We ate cookies from the refrigerator and crawled into the children's nook.  I took off my shoes, and Harvey said the blue of my toenail polish matched my eyes.  The insinuation of his comment made me uncomfortable, so I turned away and stared at the wall.  He threw a pillow at my head and when I pulled it off he was inches from me.  I jumped up.  "Harvey."
"I thought you said nothing could go wrong in the library."
"What?" I said.
"You used to say that the library was a magic place that allowed only good things to happen."
"Harvey."
"You said it."  His eyes looked like full clouds just before a good rain.
"Have a cookie," I said, offering him the sleeve of Oreos.
That made him mad.  He got up and clambered back out the window.  I didn't want to follow him, so I waited and waited until I fell asleep on the cushions.  It was after midnight when Mom called.  In the car, she asked where Harvey was.  "At home, probably," I said. 
"Weren't you with him?"  She seemed amused.  "Don't get that boy into any more trouble.  He's got a tough enough life as it is."  What she meant was that he wasn't popular. 
"Everyone at school thinks he's hot," I said.  "You should see him without a shirt on."
"Ali."  She grimaced, and we didn't talk about it again.