He tickled me for a full thirty seconds until I was gasping for air.“Ok, ok! I surrender!” I said, still struggling to breathe.“That’s what I ...hought!” Andy said. He dropped down to the ground in front of me in a kneeling position of his own. And then things got uncomfortable.“You make a cute Indian, Emma,” he said, much more quietly. He smiled at me and moved my hair out of my face. I was caught off guard by his comment. No one had called me cute before; besides my mom, of course.Andy put his. She took particular delight in styling her mother’s hair when called upon to do so. She was studious having read all the classics, recently moving onto the ribald such as Fanny Hill (memoirs of a woman of pleasure) and Lady Chatterley’s lover. Reading was a pastime she picked up from her mother when she was younger. Often the two of them sat reading in their library when Katrina would ask about humans, finding them fascinating. She thought it was ‘pretty cool’ that her own mother was once. More

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