“Simon says dance in place.”
“Simon says pat your head.”
“Simon says kiss the person next to you.”
I was playing this childhood game with expertise, knowing when and when not to follow the commands. The two teachers’ assistants were entertained watching us, and I was having a blast while our teacher ran an errand. But when the teenage girls made that last request, I froze. The boy next to me smiled and leaned over for a kiss. I ducked and took off running around the room, trying to get away from him. I pulled out chairs and yanked on other students to slow him down.
The girls cracked up laughing, thinking I was kidding. And he wasn’t going to stop until he reached me. He finally grabbed me and kissed my face. (I forget whether it was my lips or cheek.) And my six-year-old self cried like he’d slapped me. I cried so much that those two really did think he hit me. With my lips quivering and looking distraught, I didn’t understand why he would do such a thing.
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The two girls begged me not to tell the teacher. I’m no snitch (except on my older brother). I wiped my tears. They made the boy apologize to me, who looked somewhere between confused and sad from my response. All the other girls in the class had a crush on him except for me. By the time the teacher returned, everything was back to normal. I held no grudge against this kid. He was just doing as he was told and playing the game by the rules.