“Will Bobby make out with Shelly on the Roosevelt playground curly slide?” Mr. Grant continued, concluding today’s installment. “Tune in tomorrow—same time, same channel—for another exciting episode of…Dear Bobby.”
And with that, we returned to our regularly scheduled program…
“Calvin’s or Jordache?” Ava looked at me, twirling a lock of her curly brown hair.
I took a swig of my low-fat chocolate milk, unsticking the PB of my PB & J on white bread from the roof of my mouth. I was just about to answer when I heard the plop of a puke-colored plastic tray on the table.
“Fuck those! I like Sergio Valente’s better ’cause they make your ass look hot!” At which point, Bradley Dayton popped a freshly-dipped-in-ketchup tater tot into his mouth and squeezed in beside Carrie, directly across from where I sat. I noticed he’d chosen the hamburger over the grilled cheese option.
“Sergio’s aren’t one of the choices,” Ava told Brad, kinda snotty.
“Yeah,” echoed Katy, like she was Ava’s own Personal Bodyguard.
“Who cares?” Brad retaliated. “Write it in…Number 4.”
“Whatever,” Ava said. Then she wrote Brad’s answer down and turned the page. “John Cougar or Rick Springfield?”
“Rick Springfield,” Brad chimed in. “Definitely.”
“I wasn’t asking you,” Ava snapped back.
“Yeah,” echoed Katy.
“Number 4…Write it in.”
I noticed the words Eat Shit and Die! scrawled in red on a white quarter-sized button pinned to Brad’s pink Braggin’ Dragon polo shirt—worn with the collar up. Which is when I got a good look at him for the very first time…Reddish-brown hair, feathered back on the sides, with freckles on his cheeks and nose. Now that I think about it, he kinda reminds me of Ron Howard. Ron “Opie” Howard. Not Richie Cunningham.
Brad must have noticed my staring because he looked across the table at me and was all like, “Who the Hell are you?” Totally deadpan.
I was like, “I’m Jack.” Even though my real name’s John, everybody calls me Jack or Jackie.
“Jack who?”
“Paterno…Varsity Band 1st chair trumpet.”
To which Brad replied, “Oh.” Then he laughed.
“Smurfs or Garfield?” Ava continued, turning the page.
And that’s pretty much the entire story…How I Met My Best Friend. By John R. Paterno.
Though it wasn’t till almost an entire month later that I even spoke to him again…
After weeks and weeks of hot pursuit—love letter after love letter, phone call after phone call—Lynn Kelly and I finally started going together. Like my Mom always says, “Good things come to those who wait.”
In case I haven’t mentioned it…Lynn Kelly is the girl I’ve liked since the day I got to Webb Junior High. First of all, she’s totally pretty. With shoulder-length blond hair, curled back on the sides, and a nice smile. Secondly, she’s very “developed,” if you know what I mean.
As 7th graders, we don’t get to pick our schedules. They assign our classes to us and it just happened to work out that Lynn and I had the exact same schedule that semester…
1st hour: Science w/Mr. Davidson.
2nd hour: Varsity Band w/Mrs. Putnam.
3rd hour: Reading Lab w/Miss Blundell.
4th hour: Health w/Mrs. Strong.
5th hour: Math w/Mr. Nichols.
6th & 7th hour: Enriched English & Social Studies w/Ms. Lemieux.
Which was kinda weird, if you think about it. Not weird-weird, but…Even if we could’ve chosen, Lynn went to elementary school at Lee O. Clark so we never even met each other till we got to Webb. It’s like we were meant to be together and now we were.
One day in late October, I was over Lynn’s house…
Like most of my friends, her parents are divorced. So she lives with her Mom over on Orchard, behind the hill in Martin Road Park. Which pretty much serves no purpose other than during the Winter when it’s covered with snow and it’s an awesome place to go sledding. Lynn’s Mom was still at work so we were lying together on her couch, watching MTV. Which was kinda awkward because Lynn is like, 5'7" and I’m only 4'11".
“Now what?” Lynn asked. Men at Work’s “Who Can It Be Now?” video had just ended.
“Now what, what?” I replied.
To which she rolled her hazel eyes at me. “We’ve been going together for two whole days, Jackie…Aren’t you ever gonna kiss me?”
So I did…For all of about five seconds.
“That’s not a kiss,” she informed me. “Don’t you know how to French?”
Of course, I knew how…I’d just never done it before.
“Close your eyes,” Lynn instructed. Then she proceeded to stick her tongue halfway down my throat!
After waiting all that time, I honestly didn’t see what the big deal was about kissing. It certainly was nothing like I expected. In fact, it was kinda gross and slimy.
“Not bad,” Lynn said. “You’ll get better with practice.”
But what I want to know is…How was I supposed to do that? When a couple days later during Ms. Lemieux’s 6th hour Enriched English, Lynn passed me the following note…
Jack,
You know I think you’re a real sweet guy. But I don’t think this is going to work out. I hope we can we still be friends.
Lynn
I tried acting like it didn’t matter. Even though it totally did! I mean, how was I gonna get through the rest of the semester when Lynn Kelly and I had every single class together?
When I got home from school that day, my Mom asked if I was ready for dinner…
“I’m not hungry,” I told her, trying to make it clear just how p.o.’d I was without actually saying so.
“Jackie!” she called out from the kitchen where she was stirring a simmering pot of mostaccoli. “What’s wrong?”
“Everything,” I replied. Then I stormed into my bedroom. Though I had to cut through my 8-year-old sister’s room first on account of mine’s an addition on the back of our house. Jodi was playing on the floor, her hair up in pigtails looking so darn cute I could kick her! Instead, I practically stepped on her and her stupid Strawberry Shortcake dolls as I passed.
“Mom…Jackie kicked me!” she hollered.
“You’re such a Total Liar!” I shouted back.
“I know you are but what am I?”
I flung open the flimsy accordion-fold door separating our bedrooms