We take the bus to the debate tournament – Molly and I in our backless sweaters, convinced that feminine wiles are a major player in our offensive strategy.

Where do I meet him exactly?  Maybe in the hall between rounds, maybe in the lunchroom.  He’s cute, with a shock of wavy sand hair and puppy-brown eyes.  We’re by the lockers – were we talking?  The cumulative available getting-to-know-you time must be less than 32 minutes.  We’re by the lockers and he’s nuzzling my face with his cheek and his nose and I know he wants to kiss me and it’s like come on, get on with it already and I’m lighter than air, wafting on a breeze of sweet longing.

He doesn’t kiss me.

“I want to take you to prom,” he says.  I’m blown away.  Yes, of course I want to go to prom with you.  No matter that I know nothing about your family, no matter that you live hours away.

At the end of the tournament, I board the bus.  High.  He stands on the sidewalk of my memory.

I wave goodbye.

Musical Moment

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