Tony and I walked down Bloomingdale Avenue holding hands. His friend was with us and suggested we kiss goodbye. I said okay. Tony’s eyes became the size of golf balls, “I can’t believe you said that!” (And not because he was not looking forward to the kiss). So with one quick peck2 on his lips, I headed for home. When I dumped him a few weeks later, I thought he was going to hate me for life. He tattled on me to the teacher each chance he got, making me cry and look like a baby in gym class. Tony taught me that boys can be jerks, even bigger ones if you break their heart.
In seventh grade, I had a crush on Billy. His hair was longer than mine, and he was missing a few front teeth, but each time he smiled at me, I melted. With a locker right next to mine, he would pick on me everyday, but I never quite got the hint that there was no future for us. What did Billy teach me? He taught me that no matter how much you drool over a guy, it won’t make him drool back.
In tenth grade, I fell for a guy who had previously3 shown interest in my sister. How stupid is that? He came over to my house a few times, hardly talking to me at all as he sat there in my f***ly room. We would write each other notes in school, the scent of his cologne lingering on each letter. Not long after, my sister began to like him too. He was the one and only guy we fought over. What he taught me was invable—no guy is worth two sisters fighting.