For the first 20 years of my life, I’ve had a certain relationship with boys. I was either really good, close friends with them, or I would have hopeless crushes on them from afar—and never the twain ever met. That was about the extent of my relationship with the opposite sex.

In the “close friend” categorization, there was my cousin Anthony, my cousin’s godbrother Eugene, the nameless boy with my last name in preschool class, Daman, and a few others who shall for now remain nameless. In the “hopeless crush” categorization, there was Kenny, Russell, Howell, Allen, Roland, and still others who shall as well remain nameless. None of the boys on the first list were ever on the second list, and none of the boys on the second list were ever on the first list. I was always very chatty and comfortable with one group, and I was always very shy and foolish with the other. That about covers the first 10 years.

Then along came Jay, the spoiler.

Jay and I sat next to each other in the back of our fifth grade class. I have absolutely no memory of the things we discussed; I only remember joking with him and laughing. I also remember showing off in my chair and falling over backwards until the floor rose up and knocked the breath out of me. Yes, and I remember Jay laughing very hard at that.

Sixth grade came along, and one day I rode my bike up the street and discovered that Jay lived just around the corner from me. He and I got to talking, and he introduced me to his sister. Then we took turns riding my bike, and I went home. Uneventful day, I thought. Jay was a friend, like any other, so my conversations with him were simply a nice, yet unremarkable, part of my life.

That is, until sixth grade camp came up.

Sixth grade camp was one of those faux camping experiences that all kids in the San Diego Unified School District had to go through. It was essentially a week spent at Palomar Mountain and a chance to see other sixth graders from other schools; the whole shebang ended with a big dance, which was the first major social event for almost all the kids who went.

I took away very few memories of sixth grade camp, and those few memories included chatting with my best friends Glenda, Mary, and Jennifer. At some point in our chats, they hinted that Jay wanted to ask me to the dance.

“What?!” I said, panicking. My only thought was: I’m only 11 years old! I’m too young to go out on dates! I thought Jay was my friend! How could he do this to me? Oh, my God! What do I do? I don’t know anything about going to dances with boys!

I implored my friends to talk him out of it. “Please don’t let him ask me to the dance,” I’d say. “I don’t know what to tell him. Please tell him not to ask me.”

Ah, me. I thought that was the end of it, but I was so very, very wrong.

I was sitting quite innocently in the camp clearing one day when my friends approached me, with Jay not too far behind them. “April,” they said, “Jay has something he wants to ask you.”

I was instantly horrified. My eyes grew wide, my head shook from side to side, and my mouth formed the word NO.

“No, no,” my friends reassured me. “He’s not going to ask you to the dance.”

I didn’t believe them. He looked like he wanted to ask me something serious, and my friends all seemed to be closing in on me, determined to make me hear him out. I panicked.

It was silly, really. There my friends were, holding on to my jacket as I moved away, and there I was, slipping out of my jacket sleeves. Before I knew it, I was running hell bent for cover, and they were running after me. I think I may have been crying by that time, and I know that Jay was. I remember looking back and seeing him in tears, clutching my jacket and asking what was wrong and why didn’t I like him.

It totally broke my heart.

I found refuge in the girls’ bathroom, and I cried my little heart out. I refused to see any of my friends. I couldn’t understand why they or Jay had to ruin everything. It was so nice and peaceful before all the hullabaloo, and now I was having to endure things that I thought only teenagers and adults should have to deal with.

But Jay’s tearful face kept haunting me.

Later, I found a pen and paper, and I wrote him a short note. I don’t remember what I said or how I had it delivered, but not too long afterwards, I got a note from him, too, in very neatly written block letters:

April,

I understand how you feel. I like you as a friend, too. If I ask you out, would you accept because I really like you and I want to take you out. I might want to bring you to Plaza Bonita and we could probably play games and eat ice cream. But if you do not accept then we might be just best friends, but I might be hurt a little bit.

You don’t have to worry that you might make the same mistake you did with Roland because I did the same thing. I also felt maybe the way you felt. No matter what you do, like you did to Roland, I will still like you, O.K.

Jay

P.S. Please accept and also I might come to your house, O.K.

Yes, I kept the note, and no, I don’t know what all that Roland stuff is about. I’d had a crush on Roland some time before all that and somehow made a fool of myself by giving him a birthday card that declared he made me feel all mushy like oatmeal, and afterwards Roland did his very best to ignore me. After that painful event, I just didn’t want to take any risks with boys, and this whole Jay thing was a risk times ten.

Naturally, I ended up ignoring Jay after receiving his note, which was just a shame. Through the years, I found out how truly thoughtful and smart Jay could be, and he turned out to be good-looking as well. One of my high school friends considered Jay her absolute best boy buddy, and he was unfailingly nice to me in driver’s education. Once, when he got a summer job at 31 Flavors, he even offered me free ice cream, though I was too shy to accept.

Still, he was faster than I ever was and still am, for that matter [in the ninth grade, I saw him French kissing Josephine just before 4th period, and the most I’d ever done with a boy by that time was hold hands]—so I was glad not to have to deal with that. I know what you’re thinking, but it’s true; I just wasn’t ready.

But it would have been so nice to meld my two boy lists for the first time with him—friend and crush, all at once. *Sigh* Instead, I ran like the wind while he and my friends held on to my jacket. Gawd. How melodramatic can a young girl be?

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