Muriel shut her eyes against the sudden brightness of the sun; it was the summer of 1974 again and she was stretched out in the middle of the daisy patch, just like always. She sighed and got to her feet, hoping this would be the last time she had to repeat this particular portion of her teen years. Muriel! That Jones boy is here to see you again. She waited to hear it.
“Muriel! That Jones boy is here to see you again,” her mother called from the porch. Muriel waited for the admonition to chase him away, just like always. This time, she would disobey.
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