I remember the first time I kissed Arnold. I mean really kissed him, not on the cheek kid stuff. Not even that long, dramatic kiss from our school play. It was one week after my thirteenth birthday, a seemingly ordinary April day.

Arnold and I were strictly friends then. We tried the whole dating thing back in fifth grade. In short, it didn't go well. I was even more insecure about people knowing about us back then. I refused to tell anyone about us, and continued my "I Hate You, Footballhead" charade, even though in private I was smitten.

Arnold quickly grew tired of my emotional whiplash. I remember when he broke up with me: on my front stoop, mid November. He would say it was mututal. We agreed to just be friends. I had never really been nice to him in public and it was about time I learned how. I pretended to feel the same way, even said it was a relief, only to run inside minutes later and declare very dramatically that was my life was over.

And from that point on we were friends. I couldn't bare to revert back to what we were beforehand, even if it meant being mocked. Harold sure gave me hell, but Old Betsy managed to teach him a thing or two.

Anyway, back in eighth grade Arnold got his first real girlfriend. Her name was Kate. She was nice, pretty, and popular, so of course I loathed her. Those couple months were pure torture for me, as I pretended to be anywhere from happy for Arnold to disinterested completely.

I had a terrible birthday that year, which was on a Friday. All I remember is crying a lot and being completely unaware that very day they broke up. I found out about they're break-up Monday. On Tuesday I heard it was because Kate had a thing for Wolfgang, ugh what is it with that guy? Anyway, I didn't see much of Arnold that week. It wasn't until Friday that he showed up on my stoop.

"Hey, Football Face, what's new?" I asked mischeviously.

He didn't respond at first. He seemed pretty bummed. It wasn't a question of why he was bummed, but why did he show up to my house bummed?

"What, did you think I'd want to join your little pity party? Well just so you know, I've been having a great week, so you're at the wrong the house," the masochist in me said.

Still nothing.

"Ah, I'm only joking," I said, in a much nicer tone. "You ok?"

I sympathetically drapped and arm around him.

"She said I was too immature," he finally said.

I ponder this for a second.

"Well, that's because you are Footballhead," I said, "but only in the obvious ways."

He didn't seem to appreciate my answer.

"Look, compared to Wolfgang, you're just the nice, kinda naive guy that would rather hang around your grandparents than those meatheads on the football team. You've been practically wearing the same plaid shirt your whole life, you're short...Oh and you don't call girls 'bitches,'" I clarified. "So, yes, to Kate you're immature."

I let that sink in.

"But guess what? She's just another superficial witch! You're better than that! You deserve better than that."

"Yeah, but it's not just that..." he trailed off.

"She's also brainless?"

"No..She said I never kissed her, but I did! Plenty of times."

Be still my aching heart.

"Do tell."

"No, that's just it. I don't get it," he said, placing his head in his hands sulkily.

I had a hunch now.

"Ok, show me," I said.

He just stared at me.

"I'm serious," I coaxed. "Show me how you kissed her."

With that he leans forward and kisses me gently on the lips. Now I knew exaclty what Kate was driving at, the bitch. For years I longed for the day I'd be able to kiss him again and she just threw it all away because he didn't know how to french. What a bitch.

I could feel myself falling apart, so I did what I had to do to stay together. I leaned away and laughed. Cruel, I know, but I had to.

Arnold glared at me. He really looked mad, he even stood up to leave.

"Wait!" I said before he could walk away. "That's not what she wanted."

I stood up and grabbed a fistfull of his shirt, pulling him back.

"This is," I said and laid one on him.