![]() It had a little illicit charge I didn’t like adults to see me reading it. ![]() It was a chapter book, a revelation-more words than pictures, which meant more places to disappear, more space to find myself. If I wasn’t careful, I might miss a sentence. Some of the pages were stuck together, as if the previous reader had done so with a glass of Sharon’s freckle juice in hand. Freckle Juice just appeared one day, as if summoned. My family was weird-my dad, for example, was not really mine-and my baby sister did things like stick beads up her nose and scream all night long. I knew what it was like to be all wrong, even then, at what, five or six or so? I had glasses before any of the other kids on my street. ![]() A peeling white ring distorted poor Andrew Marcus’s face, his fake freckles and buck teeth in the center of the bullseye. The cover of Freckle Juice was warped, as if someone-my mother, maybe?-had used it as a coaster. ![]()
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