During my freshman year of high school I went to a dance with my huge crush, Arnold, but our relationship never really got off the ground. It ended with the dances.
At the first of those, we had a great time. We danced with our group of friends and acted silly and, altogether, it was the best night of my life thus far. Then, he got mad at someone and he asked me if I wanted to go outside for a while and take a walk, but the chaperone told us we couldn’t. So we stood in the corridor near the front door of the building for a while until a song that he really liked started playing. “This is my favorite song,” he said. Then he asked me to dance with him right there in the corridor, and we did.
It was so romantic.
A little while into the song as we were dancing he almost kissed me. He pulled his head back a little to look me in the eyes but I was too shy to do the same. If life were a Judy Blum novel, I would have turned my head and had my first kiss right then.
I have regretted that ever since.
Life is not art, I learned that day.
And romance definitely is not.
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