I can't stand it when people read over my shoulder. When I felt hot breath on the back of my neck, I looked up and said, "Can I help you with something?"

"Just curious what you're working on," said Ian.

"Well, back up a bit. Personal space, dude. I know it's a foreign concept to you, but just indulge me here, okay?"

He retreated about half a step. "Whatcha working on, Channy?"

"Don't call me that." I hate that nickname. The only one I ever let get away with that was my little brother David.

"Sorry."

"I'm thinking about writing my memoirs."

"Oh. Why?"

"Cause someone might like to read them."

"Why?"

God almighty, he drives me nuts! "What, you don't think my life is interesting enough to read about?"

"I don't know."

"Then go find something else to do. Let me write."

"Maybe I can help."

"How?" I looked at him. "How can you help?"

"Ask me anything. I remember every moment of every day of my life."

"Must be pretty boring."

"No, it isn't really. Go on, ask."

I knew I'd never get rid of him unless I did, so I said, "when did we first meet?"

"April 25, 1939. It was a Tuesday. You came in our room at 9:17 A. M. You had on a blue shirt, a brown belt, tan pants, and brown shoes with black laces."

I stared at him. He had to be making that up. "There's no way you could possibly remember all those details."

"I have a photographic memory," Ian explained. "I can see you, standing there with a brown leather suitcase in your hand. You said, 'Move, kid. That's my bed.' And I moved."

"What else do you remember?" I asked him.

"I remember that you were mean to some of the little kids, at first. But not to me. Why was that?"

I thought about it. I had bullied some of the younger kids - Adam, for one. But I'd never even thought about treating Ian that way. Why? Because he was only a year younger than me? Because he reminded me of Davey? I honestly didn't know.

"I remember the first time I saw you naked," Ian said.

Okay, that got my attention. "You saw me naked?"

"July 15, 1939. 8:27 A. M. You were coming out of the shower, and we didn't have any clean towels. You asked me to get you one."

"Yeah," I said. "So?"

"You have the cutest little mole on your left butt cheek, right about -"

"Stop! That is privileged information!"

"I've seen it. Once it's in here," he said, tapping his forehead, "it's in here for good. I'll be seeing it in my head when I'm ninety."

"Good for you. Now can I get back to work?"

"I even remember the first time I kissed you."

"The first time you - what?"

And then he kissed me. Just like that.

Yeah. Did not see that coming.

Except . . . it wasn't that bad, really. In fact, it was kind of nice.

What am I doing?

But I didn't want to stop.

I'm not gay . . . am I?

I'd been raised to believe that kind of thing was evil, an abomination against God, a sin of the highest order. Then I came here. Master Eubulon told us that love is never wrong. Unless it's forced, or unhealthy, love can never be wrong.

If loving you is wrong . . . I'm good with that. You don't need to force me. I'll meet you halfway. How can a feeling like this be bad?

When Ian broke away, I could see he was struggling with the same feelings I was.

"June 28, 2008. 3:24 P. M. I'll always remember."

If nothing else, this was gonna be an interesting chapter in the memoir.