The second time I fell in love was in junior high school. There was a boy in my grade named Arnold, and he was strange and fascinating and very intelligent, too. He did the splits in the middle of math class. He was left-handed.
I think I still love him even now.
He loved me, too. He was the one who started our flirtation by writing “I like you” in disguised handwriting and putting the note in my locker. I knew it was him because I saw him looking over my shoulder one day when I was doing my combination. Also, my friend told me it was him.
For the next three years, I was obsessed.
It was hard.
That was the next thing I learned about love: try not to want it too much.
Try very, very hard.