双语畅销书·怦然心动 Chapter 02　心动

Chapter 02

心动

遇见布莱斯·罗斯基的第一天，我就对他怦然心动。呃，好吧，实际上我对他完全是一见钟情。是因为他的眼睛。他的眼神里有某种东西。他有一双蓝色的眼睛，在黑色睫毛下一闪一闪的，让我忍不住屏住了呼吸。

六年了，我早就学会隐藏自己的感觉了。不过想想最初的日子，还是让人哭笑不得。最初的那几年，我想我大概是太执着地想跟他在一起了。

事情源于二年级开学的前两天，虽然几周之前就有了先兆——妈妈告诉我，有一家人要搬到对街的新房子，带着一个跟我同龄的男孩。

足球夏令营已经结束了，街坊邻居没有一个人陪我玩，真是无聊死了。附近也有几个孩子，可他们全都是大孩子。对我哥哥们来说当然不错，可我却只能一个人孤零零地留在家里。

妈妈也在家，不过她有的是比踢球更重要的事情要做。反正她是这么说的。对于当年的我来说，没有什么比踢球更好的了，尤其是跟洗衣服、刷盘子、拖地板比起来。但我妈妈不同意。单独跟妈妈待在家里就有这个危险，她会抓住我帮她洗衣服、刷盘子、拖地板。而且她绝对不能容忍我在做家务的间隙踢两脚球。

为保险起见，我在屋子外边晃荡了几个星期，生怕邻居来早了。真的，足有几个星期。为了自娱自乐，我开始跟我的狗“冠军”踢球。大多数时间它只能把球扑住，毕竟狗不是真的会“踢”球。但它有时会用鼻子去捅。不过，球的气味对狗来说一定是难以抵挡的诱惑，因为到最后“冠军”总会试图把它吃下去，然后输球给我。

当罗斯基家的卡车终于到来的那一天，我家里的每个人都欢欣鼓舞。“小朱莉安娜”终于有个玩伴了。

作为一个极度敏感体贴的成年人，妈妈硬是让我在家里待了足足一个小时才出门见邻居。“给他们留点时间伸个懒腰，朱莉安娜，”她说，“他们需要一些时间休整。”她甚至不允许我从院子里往外看，“我很了解你，宝贝。没准儿最后你的球不知怎么就掉到人家的院子里，而你不得不过去捡回来。”

所以，我只好趴在窗户旁边，隔几分钟就问：“现在能去了吗？”她每次都回答：“再给他们一点儿时间，好吗？”

这时电话响了。当我能肯定她正心情愉悦并且全神贯注在电话上时，我就拽着她的袖子问：“现在好了吗？”

她点点头，轻声说：“好吧，但是放松一点儿！我马上就过去。”

我太兴奋了，忍不住横穿了马路，但我努力在接近卡车的时候保持了礼貌。我站在车外朝里望去，破纪录地保持这个姿势挺长时间，但是这太有难度了，因为差不多等到一半的时候，我看到了他！我坚信即将成为我新的最佳死党的人——布莱斯·罗斯基！

其实布莱斯并没有做什么。他只是在那边晃荡着，看他爸爸把箱子搬到汽车尾板上。记得当时我真的很同情罗斯基先生，因为他看上去疲惫不堪，全靠他一个人在那里搬。我还记得他和布莱斯穿着相同款式的蓝绿色Polo衫（一种休闲服装），非常可爱。真是太好看了。

我不好意思再呆呆地站在那儿，于是朝车里喊道：“你们好！”布莱斯惊得跳了起来，然后像只蟋蟀似的迅速开始推起一只箱子，假装他一直在工作。

布莱斯的内疚感让我猜到，他本来应该乖乖地帮忙搬箱子，但他却烦透了这活儿。没准儿他已经干了好几天了！很明显，他需要休息。他需要喝点什么，比如果汁！同样很明显，罗斯基先生不可能放他走。他可能准备干到自己累倒为止，那时候布莱斯估计已经累死了——他大概都没机会走进新家！

眼前的这一幕惨剧推动我走进了卡车。我必须去帮忙！我必须救他！

我走到他身边，准备帮他一起推箱子，这个可怜的孩子实在太累了，他只是让出位置，把活儿交给了我。罗斯基先生不想让我帮忙，但我至少救出了布莱斯。我在卡车里最多只待了三分钟，他就被他爸爸发配去屋子里帮妈妈整理行李。

我追着他上了人行道，从这一刻起，一切都变了。这么说吧，我追上他，抓住他的胳膊，只想在他被困在屋里之前截住他，跟我玩一会儿。然后突然之间，他牵起我的手，直直地看着我的眼睛。

毫无原因地，我心脏就那么漏跳了一拍。我的人生中第一次有了那样的感觉。就像整个世界在你四周，从你身体由内而外地翻滚，而你飘浮在半空中。唯一能绑住你不会飘走的，就是那双眼睛。

当你们两个人的眼睛被一种看不见的力量连接在一起，在外面的世界旋转、翻腾并彻底分崩离析的时候，一把抓住了你。

那天，我差一点儿就得到了我的初吻。我十分肯定。但是紧接着他妈妈就从屋子里走出来，他尴尬得脸都红透了，接下来他就躲进了洗手间。

我在门厅里等他出来，这时他的姐姐利奈特发现了我。她看上去比我大，更成熟一些。她问我怎么回事，我就简单地说了一点儿。不过，我不该告诉她的，因为她摇晃着洗手间的门把手，疯狂地嘲笑起布莱斯。“嘿，小弟弟！”她朝门的那一边大声喊着，“外面有个漂亮小姑娘在等你！你怎么不敢出来？怕她身上有虱子吗？”

这太尴尬了！我拽着她的胳膊想让她停下来，但她不肯，最后我只好走开了。

我看见妈妈正在门口和罗斯基太太说话。妈妈送给她一个漂亮的烘烤柠檬蛋糕，那恐怕应该是我家今晚的甜点。上面的糖霜看起来又白又软，蛋糕还热着，散发着甜甜的柠檬香气。

看到它我的口水就流出来了！但它现在属于罗斯基太太，再也回不来了。我只能在她们讨论杂货店和天气预报的时候狠狠地吞咽着空气中的香味。

然后我就和妈妈回家了。这太奇怪了。我根本没能和布莱斯一起玩。我只记得他那双闪闪发亮的蓝眼睛，他有个不靠谱的姐姐，以及他差点亲了我。

晚上，我想着那个本该发生的初吻睡着了。被人亲吻到底是什么感觉？不知怎的，我知道它一定和爸爸妈妈的晚安吻不一样。毫无疑问，虽然它们看起来差不多，却有本质上的不同。就像狼和狗——只有科学家才会认为它们同属一个科目。

回首二年级，我总是希望自己至少有一部分是出于对科学的好奇，才如此执着于我的初吻。但诚实地说，恐怕更重要的原因是那双蓝眼睛。从那一刻起，直到三年级结束，我无法自拔地追随着他，坐在他旁边，希望自己至少能离他近一点儿。

到了四年级，我学会控制自己。看到他——想到他——仍然让我的心怦怦直跳，但我已经不再真的追着他跑。我只是在那里望着，想着，盼望着。

五年级的时候，忽然冒出了一个雪莉·斯道尔斯。她是个傻瓜，一个爱发牢骚、爱传八卦、爱背后中伤别人的家伙。她总是把一件事对一个人说成是黑的，对另一个人说成是白的。现在我们都升上了初中，她是个无可争议的演技派天后，就算回到小学时代，她也知道该怎么装样子。尤其是体育课上，我既没见过她跑圈也没见过她做操。相反，她会奉上一出“完美”的表演，声明她的身体在跑步、跳高和伸展运动的折磨下，一定会晕倒。

这很管用，每年都很管用。她带来医生的证明，并在学年开始的那几天小小地晕倒几次，然后逃过一年当中任何需要力量的事情。甚至放学的时候都不搬自己的椅子。唯一经常得到锻炼的肌肉是她的嘴唇，而且动起来几乎一刻不停。假如奥运会增加一个比赛说话的项目，雪莉·斯道尔斯一定能横扫一切奖项。好吧，至少是金牌和银牌——上下嘴唇各得一项。

其实，我烦恼的倒不是她不用上体育课这件事——说实话，又有谁愿意跟雪莉分在一组呢？我烦恼的是，只要谁有心，就一定能看出妨碍她上课的根本不是哮喘、脚踝有伤或是她表现出的那种“娇弱”，而是她的头发。她有那么多头发，一会儿卷成这样，一会儿卷成那样；一会儿剪短，一会儿缀上珠花；一会儿编辫子，一会儿盘成发髻。她的马尾辫就跟旋转木马的尾巴差不多。那段时间她总是披散着头发，把它们当成毯子似的把自己的脑袋裹在里面，所以别人只能看到她的鼻子。

在脑袋上裹着一床毯子玩抛球游戏？还是算了吧。

我对待雪莉·斯道尔斯的方式是无视她，这一直都很奏效，直到五年级的时候我看到她握着布莱斯的手。

那是我的布莱斯，是那个始终为了二年级开学前两天握了我的手而害羞的家伙。是那个因为太害羞，除了“你好”以外不敢跟我多说一句话的家伙。

是那个一直还欠我一个初吻的家伙。

雪莉怎么敢把她的手塞进他的手心里？这个爱出风头的娇气小公主根本没理由和他混在一起！

当他们经过的时候，布莱斯时不时小心翼翼地回头看，他看的是我。我首先想到的是，他是在向我表示抱歉。然后我忽然领悟了——他是想让我帮忙。没错，只能是这个意思！

雪莉·斯道尔斯太娇弱了，让布莱斯不好意思甩掉她，而且她太缠人了，让他挣脱不掉。她一定会心碎的，然后开始抽搐，这对布莱斯来说得有多尴尬！这件事男生做起来姿态绝对不好看。

只能由女生来代为完成。

我根本没有考虑过是否还有其他人选——两秒钟之内我就把她从他身边拽开了。一挣开，布莱斯立刻跑掉了，但是雪莉没跑。哦，不——不——不！她冲我过来了，对着她能够到的地方又抓又扯又拧，说布莱斯是属于她的，她绝不放手。

真是太娇弱了。

我满心希望这时候冒出一大群老师，看看真实生活中的雪莉·斯道尔斯到底是什么样子，可惜等人们来到这里已经太晚了。我蓬头垢面地被她夹住脑袋，而她的双手被我反剪到背后，不管她怎样尖叫、抓人，都不可能让我在老师到达之前放开她。

最后，雪莉带着一头乱发提前回家了，而我则留下跟校长复述情况。舒尔茨夫人是个健硕的女人，也许私下里会欣赏一记正确的飞踢，但是她告诉我最好还是让别人去解决他们自己的困境，她完全明白雪莉·斯道尔斯和她的头发是怎么回事，还说她很高兴看到我能够控制住自己，没有做出除了制止她以外更离谱的事。

第二天，雪莉带着满头的辫子回来了。当然，她成功地让所有人都在私下议论我，但我根本不理他们。事实是不言自明的。在这个学年剩下的时间里，布莱斯从来不走近她。

这倒不是说布莱斯从此跟我走在一起了，但他开始变得友善一些。尤其是六年级马丁斯先生把我们安排在倒数第三排成了同桌之后。

坐在布莱斯旁边感觉很好。他会每天早上对我说“朱莉，你好”，偶尔我会发现他在看我。他总会脸红，转回去做他的事，然后我就不由自主地笑了。他太害羞了，而且那么可爱！

我们聊天的机会也更多了。尤其是马丁斯先生安排我坐在他后面以后。马丁斯先生会让拼写不合格的人留堂，比如，25个词里写错7个的人午饭时分必须跟着他，一遍又一遍地抄写自己的名字。

留堂的阴影把布莱斯变成了惊弓之鸟。虽然良心上有点过意不去，但我还是会靠向他悄悄说出答案，希望自己也许有机会和他一起吃午饭。他的头发闻起来有股西瓜味，耳垂上长着绒毛，柔软的金色绒毛。我十分好奇，为什么一个长着黑头发的男孩耳朵上的绒毛却是金色的？它们为什么会长在那里？我在镜子里研究自己的耳垂，但上面什么也没有，我注意到没有一个人像他这样。

我想过在马丁斯先生跟我们讨论科学史的时候，提出耳垂绒毛的问题，但我没问过。相反，整整一年时间我都趴在他耳边拼着单词，闻着西瓜味道，想着自己是不是和初吻无缘了。

Chapter 02

Flipped

JULIANNA

The first day I met Bryce Loski, I flipped. Honestly, one look at him and I became a lunatic. It's his eyes. Something in his eyes. They're blue, and framed in the blackness of his lashes, they're dazzling. Absolutely breathtaking.

It's been over six years now, and I learned long ago to hide my feelings, but oh, those first days. Those first years! I thought I would die for wanting to be with him.

Two days before the second grade is when it started, although the anticipation began weeks before — ever since my mother had told me that there was a family with a boy my age moving into the new house right across the street.

Soccer camp had ended, and I'd been so bored because there was nobody, absolutely nobody, in the neighborhood to play with. Oh, there were kids, but every one of them was older. That was dandy for my brothers, but what it left me was home alone.

My mother was there, but she had better things to do than kick a soccer ball around. So she said, anyway. At the time I didn't think there was anything better than kicking a soccer ball around, especially not the likes of laundry or dishes or vacuuming, but my mother didn't agree. And the danger of being home alone with her was that she'd recruit me to help her wash or dust or vacuum, and she wouldn't tolerate the dribbling of a soccer ball around the house as I moved from chore to chore.

To play it safe, I waited outside for weeks, just in case the new neighbors moved in early. Literally, it was weeks. I entertained myself by playing soccer with our dog, Champ. Mostly he'd just block because a dog can't exactly kick and score, but once in a while he'd dribble with his nose. The scent of a ball must overwhelm a dog, though, because Champ would eventually try to chomp it, then lose the ball tome.

When the Loskis' moving van finally arrived, everyone in my family was happy. "Little Julianna" was finally going to have a playmate.

My mother, being the truly sensible adult that she is, made me wait more than an hour before going over to meet him. "Give them a chance to stretch their legs, Julianna," she said. "They'll want some time to adjust." She wouldn't even let me watch from the yard. "I know you, sweetheart. Somehow that ball will wind up in their yard and you'll just have to go retrieve it."

So I watched from the window, and every few minutes I'd ask, "Now?" and she'd say, "Give them a little while longer, would you?"

Then the phone rang. And the minute I was sure she was good and preoccupied, I tugged on her sleeve and asked, "Now?"

She nodded and whispered, "Okay, but take it easy! I'll be over there in a minute."

I was too excited not to charge across the street, but I did try very hard to be civilized once I got to the moving van. I stood outside looking in for a record-breaking length of time, which was hard because there he was! About halfway back! My new sure-to-be best friend, Bryce Loski.

Bryce wasn't really doing much of anything. Hewas more hanging back, watching his father move boxes onto the lift-gate. I remember feeling sorry for Mr. Loski because he looked worn out, moving boxes all by himself. I also remember that he and Bryce were wearing matching turquoise polo shirts, which I thought was really cute. Really nice.

When I couldn't stand it any longer, I called, "Hi!" into the van, which made Bryce jump, and then quick as a cricket, he started pushing a box like he'd been working all along.

I could tell from the way Bryce was acting so guilty that he was supposed to be moving boxes, but he was sick of it. He'd probably been moving things for days! It was easy to see that he needed a rest. He needed some juice! Something.

It was also easy to see that Mr. Loski wasn't about to let him quit. He was going to keep on moving boxes around until he collapsed, and by then Bryce might be dead. Dead before he'd had the chance to move in!

The tragedy of it catapulted me into the moving van. I had to help!I had to save him!

When I got to his side to help him shove a box forward, the poor boy was so exhausted that he just moved aside and let me take over. Mr. Loski didn't want me to help, but at least I saved Bryce. I'd been in the moving van all of three minutes when his dad sent him off to help his mother unpack things inside the house.

I chased Bryce up the walkway, and that's when everything changed. You see, I caught up to him and grabbed his arm, trying to stop him so maybe we could play a little before he got trapped inside, and the next thing I know he's holding my hand, looking right into my eyes.

My heart stopped. It just stopped beating. And for the first time in my life, I had that feeling. You know, like the world is moving all around you, all beneath you, all inside you, and you're floating. Floating inmidair. And the only thing keeping you from drifting away is the other person's eyes. They're connected to yours by some invisible physical force, and they hold you fast while the rest of the world swirls and twirls and falls completely away.

I almost got my first kiss that day. I'm sure of it. But then his mother came out the front door and he was so embarrassed that his cheeks turned completely red, and the next thing you know he's hiding in the bathroom.

I was waiting for him to come out when his sister, Lynetta, saw me in the hallway. She seemed big and mature to me, and since she wanted to know what was going on, I told her a little bit about it. I shouldn't have, though, because she wiggled the bathroom doorknob and started teasing Bryce something fierce. "Hey, baby brother!" she called through the door. "There's a hot chick out here waiting for you! What's matter? Afraid she's got cooties?"

It was so embarrassing! I yanked on her arm and told her to stop it, but she wouldn't, so finally I just left.

I found my mother outside talking to Mrs. Loski. Mom had given her the beautiful lemon Bundt cake that was supposed to be our dessert that night. The powdered sugar looked soft and white, and the cake was still warm, sending sweet lemon smells into the air.

My mouth was watering just looking at it! But it was in Mrs. Loski's hands, and I knew there was no getting it back. All I could do was try to eat up the smells while I listened to the two of them discuss grocery stores and the weather forecast.

After that Mom and I went home. It was very strange. I hadn't gotten to play with Bryce at all. All I knew was that his eyes were a dizzying blue, that he had a sister who was not to be trusted, and that he'd almost kissed me.

I fell asleep that night thinking about the kiss that might have been. What did a kiss feel like, anyway? Somehow I knew it wouldn't be like the one I got from Mom or Dad at bedtime. The same species, maybe, but a radically different beast, to be sure. Like a wolf and a whippet —only science would put them on the same tree.

Looking back on the second grade, I like to think it was at least partly scientific curiosity that made me chase after that kiss, but to be honest, it was probably more those blue eyes. All through the second and third grades I couldn't seem to stop myself from following him, from sitting by him, from just wanting to be near him.

By the fourth grade I'd learned to control myself. The sight of him — the thought of him — still sent my heart humming, but my legs didn't actually chase after him anymore. I just watched and thought and dreamed.

Then in the fifth grade Shelly Stalls came into the picture. Shelly Stalls is a ninny. A whiny, gossipy, backstabbing ninny who says one thing to one person and the opposite to another. Now that we're in junior high, she's the undisputed diva of drama, but even back in elementary school she knew how to put on a performance. Especially when it came to P.E. I never once saw her run laps or do calisthenics. Instead, she would go into her "delicate" act, claiming her body would absolutely collapse from the strain if she ran or jumped or stretched.

It worked. Every year. She'd bring in some note and be sure to swoon a little for the teacher the first few days of the year, after which she'd be excused from anything that required muscles. She never even put up her own chair at the end of the day. The only muscles she exercised regularly were the ones around her mouth, and those she worked out nonstop. If there was an Olympic contest for talking, Shelly Stalls would sweep the event. Well, she'd at least win the gold and silver — one medal for each side of her mouth.

What bugged me about it was not the fact that she got out of P.E. —who'd want her on their team, anyway? What bugged me about it was that anyone who bothered to look would know that it wasn't asthma or weak ankles or her being "delicate" that was stopping her. It was her hair. She had mountains of it, twisted this way or that, clipped or beaded, braided or swirled. Her ponytails rivaled the ones on carousel horses. And on the days she let it all hang down, she'd sort of shimmy and cuddle inside it like it was a blanket, so that practically all you saw of her face was her nose. Good luck playing four-square with a blanket over your head.

My solution to Shelly Stalls was to ignore her, which worked just dandy until about halfway through the fifth grade when I saw her holding hands with Bryce.

My Bryce. The one who was still embarrassed over holding my hand two days before the second grade. The one who was still too shy to say much more than hello to me.

The one who was still walking around with my first kiss.

How could Shelly have wormed her hand into his? That pushy little princess had no business hanging on to him like that!

Bryce looked over his shoulder from time to time as they walked along, and he was looking at me. My first thought was that he was telling me he was sorry. Then it dawned on me — he needed my help. Absolutely, that's what it had to be! Shelly Stalls was too delicate to shake off, too swirly to be pushed away. She'd unravel and start sniffling and oh, how embarrassing that would be for him! No, this wasn't a job a boy could do gracefully. This was a job for a girl.

I didn't even bother checking around for other candidates — I had her off of him in two seconds flat. Bryce ran away the minute he was free, but not Shelly. Oh, no-no-no! She came at me, scratching and pulling and twisting anything she could get her hands on, telling me that Bryce was hers and there was no way she was letting him go.

How delicate.

I was hoping for herds of teachers to appear so they could see the real Shelly Stalls in action, but it was too late by the time anyone arrived on the scene. I had Fluffy in a headlock and her arm twisted back in a hammerlock, and no amount of her squawking or scratching was going to get me to unlock her until a teacher arrived.

In the end, Shelly went home early with a bad case of mussed-up hair, while I told my side of things to the principal. Mrs. Shultz is a sturdy lady who probably secretly appreciates the value of a swift kick well placed, and although she told me that it would be better if I let other people work out their own dilemmas, she definitely understood about Shelly Stalls and her hair and told me she was glad I'd had the self-control to do nothing more than restrain her.

Shelly was back the next day with a head full of braids. And of course she got everybody whispering about me, but I just ignored them. The facts spoke for themselves. Bryce didn't go anywhere near her for the rest of theyear.

That's not to say that Bryce held my hand after that, but he did start being a little friendlier to me. Especially in the sixth grade, after Mr. Mertins sat us right next to each other in the third row back.

Sitting next to Bryce was nice. He was nice. He'd say Hi, Juli to me every morning, and once in a while I'd catch him looking my way. He'd always blush and go back to his own work, and I couldn't help but smile. He was so shy. And so cute!

We talked to each other more, too. Especially after Mr. Mertins moved me behind him. Mr. Mertins had a detention policy about spelling, where if you missed more than seven out of twenty-five words, you had to spend lunch inside with him, writing your words over and over and over again.

The pressure of detention made Bryce panic. And even though it bothered my conscience, I'd lean in and whisper answers to him, hoping that maybe I could spend lunch with him instead. His hair smelled like watermelon, and his ear-lobes had fuzz. Soft, blond fuzz. And I wondered about that. How does a boy with such black hair wind up with blond ear fuzz? What's it doing there, anyway? I checked my own ear-lobes in the mirror but couldn't find much of anything on them, and I didn't spot any on other people's either.

I thought about asking Mr. Mertins about earlobe fuzz when we were discussing evolution in science, but I didn't. Instead, I spent the year whispering spelling words, sniffing watermelon, and wondering if Iwas ever going to get mykiss.