the all-girls school I'd surely be sent to if they ever found out...    

My very first boyfriend was not really my boyfriend. He was in my head, sorta like a make-believe boyfriend. Chad Winkler. He wore salmon colored I-Zod t-shirts and pleated jean shorts, his hair in a wicked spike. He said things like hey, what’s up? What’s the answer to number four? His head was always cocked to one side in a cool lean, and even though he wore braces all over his perfect teeth, I wanted to cut my tongue on all those metal wires. Why? Because I was in love, knee deep, big river love. He sat in front of me in pre-Algebra and every day before class I would rush to the bathroom, comb through my tangles, furiously brushing the curls until they stood frizzy and full at the back of my head. I’d read in YM that curls were out so I figured my future husband would appreciate my ability to be hip with the styles. Instead, he asked Mrs. Johnson if he could switch seats because he couldn’t see the board behind my hair, but told me not to worry, you’re still my favorite person to get answers off of, and then smiled that dream like smile.