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Summer of the Bee: Part 1
The summer of 1988 feels like it’ll never end, and if you ask me, that’s the best thing in the world. No more homework, getting up early, or teachers clucking into my ear. It’s only the first Wednesday after school let out, so there are lot more days to come. Like Thursday and Friday.
Today I’m sitting on the porch steps next to my driveway in the hot June sun, wondering what I want for my thirteenth birthday, when a bee buzzes by my ear. I duck, but it circles around my head, then plunges toward my knee. I freeze when it lands on a crease in my jeans. The bee turns round and round in a jerky dance, and then, for no reason at all, jabs its stinger into my leg . . .