Her skin, that summer’s day, tasted like honey melted over chocolate. The long grasses sang in the oven-warm breeze, and we lay among the trampled stalks and whispered our dreams to one another. The sky was an ocean into which we could dive. I tickled her neck with a daisy; it left a trail of yellow crumbs.
As we walked home–the dirt path cracked with heat, the dust rising behind us–she brushed the seeds from her skirt so her daddy wouldn’t notice.
It was the longest day of my life.
Match the story (and the number) to the face at Mirrors.