Miriam Shapiro

The bus drove by a group of schoolchildren. These children wore jeans, colored sweatshirts, sneakers—they looked like "real kids." My eyes met those of the little boy nearest the bus. I smiled at him, waving. The little boy raised his arm and pointed. ...

“Me, too,” I lied. “It’s . . . indecipherable.” I had seen that word the day before in a copy of Time magazine lying around the house, and decided that it sounded as glamorous as any other.