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But you persisted, and you were so friendly that it just seemed strangely status quo and non-threatening to admit it. That was when I first fell: I 'short story' admitted my attraction and you didn't laugh. You just said, "Let me help." You suggested that all three of us skate together. We went 'round and 'round that rink, and you did most of the talking, and pretty soon, with our song playing, the G-forces pulled us closer together, on the outskirts of the orange oval. You asked me questions. You laughed when I said 'short story' something even remotely funny. I felt natural, for once. At school the next Monday, after a weekend of glorious daydreaming (during which time my father told me to get my lazy ass off the couch and go outside and play; but I was playing in my mind, virile with the potential of first love as it tickled under my shirt, laughing along with me), you gave me a note in first period that pretended to talk about her, but then it complimented my choice of shirts, and I wrote back, pretending to be vaguely interested in her, and I complimented the plaid ribbon in your hair.
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