MORE AND MORE.Christina sat at the dressing tableto brush her hair, the hairbrushher aunt had given her, in her hand.She was still in her nightgown,her school uniformwas on a chair by the bed,the bed still unmade.She looked at her features,her hair a mess, her eyesstill had sleep in them.She brushed her hair slowly,a hundred times, her mother said,does it best. She dragged the brushthrough, pulling through the knotsat the ends. She thought on Benedict,her friend's brother, the boy shehad become smitten by. She wonderedif she'd see him today; unless shewaited by the school fence and peeredthrough when his school bus arrivedand he descended and went by the fenceinto his playground, she might not.Maybe if it was fine and they werepermitted to go out on the sports fieldshe would. They'd met the first time there,after his sister had told him thatChristina liked him. Thinking abouthim now, made her feel excited, madeher insides turn over, not nastily, butweirdly, as if fingers stirred inside of her.She had dreamed of him the night before,dreamed he had sat at the end of her bed,and she had wanted him to enter, buthe just sat there talking. She stoppedbrushing her hair and put the brush downon the dressing table. They had kissed.