February 6, 1998

This afternoon, I begged my mom to let me go to the dance, but she said no. I’m grounded, as usual. I had to babysit anyway, for the kids down the street.

Steph called me from the dance before the kids were asleep and said that she, Zach, and some other people were going to leave the dance and come to the house where I was babysitting. But that plan made me nervous because these kids I was babysitting aren’t dumb. I said I had to go.

But not long after the kids were in bed, Steph called back. She said, “Zach likes you again.” My stomach did a flip. I said, “I don’t want to talk to him – it will be too awkward!” But she put him on the phone anyway.

I chatted about nothing, trying to keep the subject off of us going out again, but alas! It didn’t work. He interrupted me to say, “So will you?”

“Will I what?”

“Go out with me, Stupid.”

I groaned. “Zach, I like you and everything, but you keep doing this…”

“So we’ll keep it a secret!”

“What?!”

“From my seventh-grade friends. So they won’t convince me to dump you.”

Then Steph got back on the phone and said, “So you’re going out again?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

She went on, “Well, the dance sucks. There are too many dorky fifth-graders here and they haven’t even played any slow songs. I haven’t danced at all; we’re just hanging around in the hall.”

[This was the first, but unfortunately not the last, time a guy has suggested keeping a relationship “secret.” I guess I am just that embarrassing. But I mean, call me “Stupid” and I’m putty in your hands.]