“...And call me Conrad!”
“Conrad calling me again—that was enough to make me forget how to breathe.”
“Is it so impossible that Conrad Fisher would like me?”
“Conrad”
“And after, when it was bedtime, I would sing, “We love you, Conrad, oh yes we do. We love you, Conrad, and we’ll be true” into the bathroom mirror with a mouthful of toothpaste. I would sing my eight-nine-ten-year-old heart out. But I wasn’t singing to Conrad Birdie. I was singing to my Conrad. Conrad Beck Fisher, the boy of my preteen dreams.”
“What now?”Conrad didn’t let me off the hook that easy. He said, “What now with you and Jeremiah or with you and me?”