Throat

The red-clad lasses arranged into a pyramid, and my latent simian instincts picked up that the smallest one of the bunch, the cute strawberry blonde at the top, was Tara Robles without glasses. No doubt she was roped in by pushy seniors. Through the colorful face paint, dramatic makeup, and glossy exuberance plastered on her face, I saw she loathed every second of the spotlight. We never exchanged more than glances in math class, but I knew her to be a serious student. Packing up slowly after the bell, I watched her stay to ask questions scribbled in her spiral notebook, waiting for Catherine to finish trying to impress the teacher. I had a boyish fascination for Tara, enjoying how she rolled her eyes at the teacher’s pet, how she furrowed her brow as she considered our teacher’s comments. To me, she was humble and hardworking. More than that, she was honest. All this I came to know by watching her, both in class and at the football game.