Every year on my birthday, from the time I turned 12, a white gardenia was delivered to my house. No card ever came with it. Calls to the flower-shop were not 【小题1】 at all. After a while I stopped trying to find out the sender’s name and was just pleased with the beautiful white flower, in soft pink paper.

I ever stopped imagining who the giver might be, though. Some of my 【小题2】 moments were spent daydreaming about the sender. My mother encouraged these daydreams. She’d asked me 【小题3】 I had been especially kind to someone. Perhaps it was one of my classmates. Perhaps it was the old man. He lived across the street. I’d delivered his mail during the winter. As a girl, though, I had more 【小题4】 imagining that it might be a boy that I had met.