We lie on our sides, facing each other. It may be late afternoon, but at this time of year the sun is pretty high. (As are we, especially for only half a J. I must remember to commend Arno on the quality of his weed.) Tinsley’s hippie skirt settles on her curves. More buttons on her white blouse are open than closed. The green in her hazel irises comes out in the sunlight. When she sweeps her long mane off her neck, the sunlight catches the nearly microscopic blond hairs of her nape. Now that we’re getting high, I’m wondering if the nervous sexual tension I’m feeling is all in my head. Is it some remnant of my pre– Semi-Miraculous Transformation self?

I flash back to the first time a girl at a party put the moves on me. We were standing in the kitchen, drinking rum and Cokes and joking around. Every once in a while when she laughed, she’d reach up and give my shoulder a playful shove. I just assumed it was what she always did. Only later did Arno irately inform me that she’d been hitting on me. It’s still sometimes hard to tell the difference between someone who’s interested and someone who’s just the friendly, touchy-feely type.

For now, suppose I don’t concern myself with why Tinsley wanted me to come here? Just because she has, or I imagine she has, an alluring, sexy vibe, does that mean I have to view it as a challenge? Instead, I find myself appreciating the ambiance of leisurely female companionship — this being something I did not have a lot of with Robin, who was always busy at school and after with the yearbook, sports, and other extracurricular activities. (No senioritis for her last spring.) Not that my heart has strayed one iota from my lady of the northern woods. My devotion to her remains as firmly resolute as Washington crossing the Delaware. But for now, lying here with a pretty girl — with nowhere pressing to go and nothing important to do — is very mellow.

Long moments drift past like the clouds above. Thanks to the J, Tinsley and Lucas the Resolute settle into a fine buzzzzzzz. Someone nearby with a guitar picks out “Suzzzzzzzanne.” In the grass, teenzzzzzy six-legged leafhoppers flit about. Some are all green, some green and orange with a black stripe through their eyezzzzz. Lucas is a blue, red, and orange two-legged hair hopper snuggling in the delicate fuzzzzzz on Tinsley’s neck.

“That day at the junior high?” Tinsley says. “You were so funny.”

“Was I?” Wuzzzz I? Wuzzzz Buzzzzz Bunny a wabbit?

“For a second I thought you were going to jump up and run away,” Tinsley says.

Buzz Bunny’s first impulse is to protest that that wuzzzz not the case, but why spoil this fine buzzzzz by arguing?

“So what wuuzzz that about?” Buzz asks.