I start ninth grade in four days.
My brother’s helping me rearrange
for the new year.
So far we’ve painted,
hung a dartboard, and scrapped
two boxes of math handouts
from fifth grade.
It feels great.
He pulls a blue binder
from the back of a built-in drawer:
running times from P.E..
I notice something purple and blue
behind it, so we pull the drawer out
and I reach my full arm in.
It’s a book. On the inside cover,
a 617 phone number, a kiss
in dusty lipstick
and my name.