Now I’m staring at the white tank-top straps resting on her tan and otherwise bare shoulders. She’s actually wearing an in-style shirt! Looking at her legs, I notice a pair of denim short shorts that make me feel funny inside.

Then this thought: Is this really Sarah Foster? No, it can’t be. It has to be some other girl. Maybe it’s one of Sarah’s friends? No, wait, maybe it’s Tank’s mom. Maybe she’s cleaned up and they’re trying to work things out. Yes, that’s it!

No, that’s not it.

Because the more I study this mysterious female, the more I realize she is Sarah. I mean, the way the back of her head bounces slightly from side to side as she talks. The way she gestures with her right hand, extending it out and rotating her wrist wildly, totally engrossed with whatever story she’s telling. These are signature Sarah Foster moves.

Then other thoughts, troubling ones: Why am I staring at her if I know it’s just geeky Sarah? After all, this is a girl I’ve picked on for years, Tank’s nerdy twin who’s so easy to make cry. Yet now I can identify her—even after her pre-senior year makeover or whatever—without seeing her face. It’s her, but it’s not her. But, of course, it is Sarah. Sarah Foster. So what’s happening? Why is my stomach flipping around like this? Why do I recognize her simply from her head and arm movements?

I take a deep breath and swallow, aware of my Adam’s apple bobbing. I suddenly feel like a total perv, standing here drooling over my best friend’s sister’s copper shoulders and legs.

I’m about to run home, but when I look up for one last glance, I see Dale Foster’s scary eyes staring at me through the glass triangle. He gives me one of those cop looks, like he’s always expecting danger, and I half-expect him to reach for his gun, but he doesn’t. He just looks at me and cocks his head to the right. I try to play it off the best I can, waving my hand in front of the window and ringing the doorbell, but I’m pretty sure he’s just busted me checking out his daughter.

He says something to Sarah.

She stands and turns.

And I fall in love.

She sees me through the glass triangle and rolls her eyes. I look down at her hips, swaying gently in those short shorts, and notice that she has curves. This catches me totally off guard and makes me nervous, makes me realize I’ll never tease her again. How did this happen so quickly? How does a girl go from geek to goddess overnight … without plastic surgery?

She opens the door, holds it for me.