11th grade, my Spanish II class takes a day trip to a high school 70 miles away to see a bilingual adaption of Don Quixote. My gang files into the auditorium seats, a group of about 8 guys, most preppy, most tall and thin. And short, fat me and my glasses, the worst dressed one there to boot. We’re all riffing on each other, and razzing the guy who got caught bringing a *Penthouse * magazine on the bus.
In the row ahead of us are several girls, they turn around and check us out, giggles and hellos are exchanged. Then I see her, almost directly in front of me. Dark brown straight hair, so smooth it shines with every toss of her head. Lively expressive dark eyes that you can’t help but make contact with. Cute little straight nose, slightly bobbed at the tip, just enough. The healthiest, smoothest pink skin I’ve ever seen, barely any makeup. Lips slightly curled in a teasing naughty grin over neat even teeth. Petite from what I can see of her over the seat. I’m praying to God every time she turns to the front, that she finds us interesting and funny enough to turn back around. I hear the name Lindsey.
She kids us about our noise and coming from a wild school out in the country. I say something about you should see the ones we left behind, she laughs. She says something about the guy with magazine, I say he reads it for the articles, she laughs. The dude beside me, Jason, says that’s Playboy. I reply, “Like it matters, nobody buys that excuse anyway.” She laughs, she smiles. She turns toward me more and more as we all talk. I thank the Big Guy.
She says something about how ever will she get away from all of us wild boys. I say, she can’t because there’s a party at her house tonight, we’ll be waiting for her and her friends. She say, “alright”, with no trace of sarcasm or dread. Then I steal the catch phrase of my best friend, “We’re gonna kill your dog.” Why I said it, I don’t know. But she’s nonplussed by it, just grins and says we better not. I say okay since she’s so nice, we won’t. She thanks me, and the chit chat goes on. For once, widdershins can do no wrong, even after that line. 
The play starts, we watch, but occasionally she turns to peek back over her shoulder. At one point, two prisoners in the play are watching the events from earlier in the play being acted out by women wearing masks and dressed like said prisoners. I turn to Jason and say, “Hey, I don’t remember those prisoners having breasts.” He snickers. Lindsey turns around with this look of horror and shock, that perfect smile is gone. :smack: Jason starts me punching in the arm as hard as he can. “Dammit, shut up! She heard you! And she liked us!” he snarls. “What do you mean we,” I think to myself.
The spell is broken, she doesn’t turn around again for the rest of the play. When it’s over, she barely looks back to wave goodbye.
Sigh…