Garcia." I felt a slight pang of sudden protective jealousy. 8th grade was the year Bethie blossomed. I was sure Mr. Garcia, whom I remembered vaguely...as an odd but friendly man, noted it, too. How could he not have? Overnight her little girl breasts had suddenly become those of a woman. It was a turning point in my own life, the first stirrings of my sexual awareness of her. As she worked I watched her breasts jiggle and shake beneath her top, and I noted they were fuller and wider than they. Tracy was close enough to see the woman was dressed in a halter and shorts. She was barefoot and perspiration clung to the back of her neck, torso, arms, and legs. She was stretching again, arms high over her body; stretching and yawning as Tracy moved quickly behind her and sank the blade of her knife deeply into the blond terrorist's right armpit. The woman's yawn stopped short and became a strangled coughas the knife, buried to the hilt, sliced an artery and cut off blood to the rest of her. More

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