I shook my head. "Sorry ladies, I'm terrible with names," I apologized. Which, hand on heart, was true enough.Across from me, Sexpot Suzie piped up. "...aybe you should give us all a number. I hear you're real good with numbers," she said, staring at me as she chewed on her buttered toast. Beside her, takes it up the pooper Diane raised her eyebrows in amusement.Ha Ha. Funny. True. But funny. I took a sip of my coffee noticing that individual conversations between various girls had drifted away. For some reason, Carol didn't laugh at me, and I sort of forgot allabout the incident for about a month or so.Then, one evening in June, Carol came into my room while I was justlying on the bed, listening to the radio and reading. It was a rainy,dark, and dreary day, and I had just given up doing anythingconstructive. Dad was in Chicago, or New York, or somewhere, on abusiness trip, and we were here by ourselves. Carol was standing by thedoor, just looking at me, kinda funny. "Whatcha need,. More

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