At last, we’ve reached the somewhat-chronological section of the diary. Here’s where shit gets good.

By the start of the new semester, I’ve realized my True Love for David B. I’m pretty sure I actually started liking him as early as September or October, but I put off admitting that to myself until now. It’s interesting to note that little  has changed in that department. I still follow the same pattern for all my crushes: hate, annoyance, interest, lust, and finally like. This process usually takes months to complete, which is why once I like someone, I’m pretty much in it for the duration. After all, I had to spend weeks figuring out if I’d hit it.

1/26/01

Dear Diary,

I am sooooo confused! I’m starting to feel the way about David that I felt about Ryan. I really don’t want to have to go through this all over again.

He talks to me all the time, and shows off while I am around. I don’t know what to do! S and S don’t know yet, and I probably won’t tell them. It seems so obvious to me, but I guess they don’t seem to notice.

I don’t want to go through this again, it’s just too painful. But I don’t know what else to do about it. I don’t ever want to have a relationship, or do I? I wouldn’t know what to say or do, though. Stupid Stefanie and Joe are going out (I think). Why do I always fall for these dumb guys?

David B. and I had quite the flirtation. I’m pretty sure it consisted entirely of us insulting each other. I’ve always been a big (ok, more like, 14-year-old girl at a Jonas Brothers concert obsessed) fan of what TV Tropes calls “slap slap kiss” relationships. I am pretty sure this is entirely the fault of spending a large portion of my adolescence watching and re-watching the famous kissing scene between Han Solo and Princess Leia in “The Empire Strikes Back.” There’s really no defending this, except to add that I still think it’s awesome to this day. What can I say? Even nine-year-old me was attracted to bad boys.

David B. was everything you can aspire to love if you are 13 years old and really, really into badassery in all shapes and forms. He was smart, but didn’t apply himself. He hung around with the bad crowd, but not often enough to be labeled a serious druggie. He was snarky and sarcastic, and most importantly, he took great joy in making fun of me.

The first friend to find out about my secret crush was Kit aka Bunny. She was the only person observant enough to figure out the real reason we fought … all the time. (She’s a frequent reader/commenter who is GETTING MARRIED this Saturday! If my dad had done as he was told and brought my big box of writing, I’d be posting the list we made with “100 reasons y guys suck!” Once I go home to Michigan, I am posting it for sure. CONGRATS!)

S and S refers to frenemy Stefanie and another girl, also named Stephanie. I believe I caved and told them about my tortured love affair, probably days if not hours after this entry. I have a big problem keeping secrets, as in, I pretty much overshare all the time. Plus, I needed as much attention as possible. And when you’re an eighth grade girl, having a crush is an instant attention-booster.

David B. and I had three classes together, which meant I saw him four out of five days a week. Tuesdays were the worst day ever, as he did not grace me with his presence at all. He was also in my rotating elective (Art/Gym/Spanish), which will become important later. Art class with David B. was pretty much the highlight of my life.

We did most of our flirting in US History, because he sat at the next table over. Kit, far more confident than I, would always start up conversations for my benefit, as she and David B. were neighbors. I would wait for my moment, and then sputter out some insult about his bowlcut hairdo or misspelled homework. He would counteract with a crack about my glasses or my habit of asking insufferable questions and sharing unnecessary personal anecdotes during class. We had some ongoing joke about him being a hunter that resulted in David B. drawing me a picture of a rabbit. He wrote “To Diane, from David” on it. I kept it forever, like some sacred object, hidden under old book reports in my desk at home.

I was crushing hard. The school work was easy. “Wait til you get to high school,” every teacher told me when I complained. Consequently, I spent most of my year reading under the desk and thinking of new outfits, new insults and new fantastic ways to wear my hair. I had a plan to win David B’s love. All I needed was the perfect moment of execution. Unfortunately, there were no hyperdrives to malfunction, stranding us in space for months at a time, forcing us together in confined engine rooms. But hey, a girl can dream.