Too Hot to Handle!

We fourth-grade girls assembled in Sandy’s fort, high up in her garage rafters. Together we leafed through the Playboy magazines that Cecilia lifted from her dad. We debated the merits of various playmates, cut out our favorites, and then glued them into binder-paper scrapbooks.
Back in my pink bedroom, I hid my steamy scrapbook under the rug. I next envisioned Mom noticing the bulge and questioning me about her discovery. Realizing that I simply could not account for why I possessed such a booklet, I tore it up. And when no one was looking, I darted out to our garbage can and sprinkled my paper shreds into the stinking mix.