February 3, 1998

My second block class today was History. I was paired with Nathan. We were doing our work, but there was something… nervous and awkward about it. I noticed, for the millionth time, that Nathan has a very touchable face and very soft skin. His hair is perfect and just the right shade of blond and his eyes… they’re so big and the strangest shade of gold, and when I look into them, I just feel so guilty, I guess, compared to the innocence of his eyes.

But the thing about Nathan is that he knows, like, everything. He’s kind ofwise, I guess, in that he can tell I like him. He’s not the biggest flirt, like Zach, but today his eyes seemed to say, “Come on, Emily, we both know we like each other. This is ridiculous – can’t we just admit it?” It felt like a challenge and I looked away.

It’s so weird. Nathan and I have this relationship between our minds; we’ve never actually said anything about it, but we both know it’s there.

Today after school, Zach called. He asked me what bra size I was and I said 34C, even though I’m just a 32B. “Well,” he said, “As long as your boobs aren’t pointy. I hate pointy boobs.”

… What does that even mean? Of course they’re not pointy.

I wanted to change the subject, so I told him about my theory that you can’t really trust anyone but yourself; everyone could just be lying to you, and you’d never know. He didn’t seem to really get the concept: “But I canalways trust Matt.”

Then we talked about his being unpredictable. He said, “Name one time I’ve done something unpredictable.” I couldn’t, really – his dumping me became predictable after a while.

I didn’t know what to say so I sighed and said, “I don’t understand you, Zach.”

“You understand me better than anyone else does.” That really touched me.

Going back to the same person over and over again: is it love, or idiocy? I have to figure it out.

[Nathan and I had a relationship between our minds. That’s some deep, telepathic sh*t. I still don’t know what Zach could have meant by “pointy” breasts, but I do think it was astute of me to recognize that his dumping me over and over again actually made him predictable.]