A short story, to brighten your day:
Sometimes, a kiss is just a kiss. This wasn’t one of those times. I’d been watching Marcus for years, ever since he saved me from bullies in the schoolyard when we were in fourth grade. I was one of the poor kids. My mom dressed me in hand me downs and clothes she found at garage sales. She cut my hair and would have made my underwear if she knew how to sew. My shoes had holes in the soles. Marcus wasn’t like me. His daddy owne...