Disclaimer: I am not Max Shulman. I don't own anyone or anything.

I hope you enjoy!

Central High's annual art show.

Canvases adorned the walls in the cafeteria, and some of the tables displayed pretty pieces of pottery. Art classes were a requirement in the high school, so many of the students were proudly displaying their work to their friends, teachers, and parents.

Well, perhaps in some cases, proudly wasn't necessarily the right word.

"Isn't this the worst piece of clay you've ever seen?" Dobie exclaimed, gesturing down to a misshapen bowl. It was splattered with mismatched paint colors and the edges were rough.

"But, Dobie, you made this one," his best friend, Maynard G. Krebs pointed out.

"That's the point," he continued. "I'm a hopeless artist. A miserable musician!" Just as his friend was about to intervene, he added, "I flunked out of band! Mr. Pomfritt flunked me! Who flunks band? All I had to do was play the triangle. The triangle!"

Maynard shrugged. "Like nobody's perfect."

Dobie rolled his eyes at his friend's attempt. "Maynard, nothing you can say could make me feel better. Absolutely nothing!" He shouted, triangular eyebrows shooting up in frustration at his own hopelessness. However, his voice caught when he looked past his friend. Standing in the corner of cafeteria eyeing some photographs was a girl- a brown haired, medium height, fine-figured girl. A dreamy smile lit up his face and, moving around his friend, he headed towards her.

The beatnik again shrugged. "Must've been something I said," he told himself before searching out the refreshments table.

"Hello, my sunbeam, my ray of light, my great, tawny beast," Dobie greeted as he came to her side.

The girl turned to him, surprised. "Are you talking to me?" she asked.

"Who else? After seeing you, how could I possibly talk to anyone else?" he questioned.

She stifled a laugh. "You sure are kooky," she giggled. "What's your name?"

"Dobie Gillis," he answered. "What's yours?"

"Anita Iglehart."

"Ah, a name worthy of an angel!" Dobie exclaimed, causing her to dissolve into more giggles.

"Tell me, Dopey, are you interested in photography?"

"That's-uh- that's Dobie with a B," he corrected. "And no, I've never given it much thought. What about you?"

"I simply adore it. I never go anywhere without my camera. I've always flipped for photographers- Dorothea Lange, Murray Becker, Walker Evans- braving the elements to reveal the truth!" she proclaimed. "Oh, Dobie, are you sure you're not a photographer?"

That was when he noticed the black camera hanging around her neck. "I'm sure, I'm not a photographer." Noticing the disappointed look on her face, he quickly added, "But I can picture you and me together."

Anita looked back at him, her hands on her hips. The disappointment was gone, and now she was holding in laughter. "And how many girls have you gotten with that one?"

Dobie dared to venture, "One so far?"

The brunette couldn't hold in that laugh, and it escaped her. The beautiful bubbling sound made Dobie's heart flip. "If you're talking about me, then you're mistaken."

His heart sunk. "Then zero so far," he admitted, while Anita nodded knowingly.

"It sure is a shame you aren't in photography," she told him. "You're kinda cute." With those words, she turned and started to leave.

However, with that admission, Dobie knew he couldn't lose her. "Wait, Anita," he said and hurried after her. "What if I was starting a photography class? Here at the high school?"

"Oh, Dobie, you are?" Anita asked, facing him once again.

"Uh- yes. I'm starting right away. All the other art classes- they've been a piece of cake. I love a challenge," he lied, becoming more confident as her smile widened.

"Oh, Dobie, that's wonderful!" she gushed.

"Sure is," he agreed. "Would you like to go out with me?"

"You can take me out any night!"

"Any night?"

"But of course! Any night, every night!" Anita told him. "Oh, Dobie, you're absolutely delightful!" She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. As he stood in stunned silence once she released him, Anita pulled out a pen and a hastily torn slip of paper and scribbled down her phone number. She pushed it into his hand and gave the dazed boy another kiss. "Call me, Dobie!"

With that, she rushed off, leaving Dobie befuddled, with a crumpled phone number on his hand and two lipstick marks on his cheeks.

Maynard wandered over with a plate stacked with cookies. "What'd you say to her?" he asked, waving one hand in front of Dobie's face.

The boy snapped back to attention. "I don't even know," he shrugged. "All I know is I'm in big trouble."