I'm sitting, alone thankfully, at the one desk in our room, writing when Specs comes in. He's smiling and toting his trombone case. I have a feeling that hearing a harrumphing version of We Will Rock You is in my immediate future.

"Hey," he seems breathless and his cheeks are flushed. "You won't believe it. Dutchy came up to me after practice today and asked me to go out with him after class. So I did."

I'm genuinely happy for him. Plus it kind of puts off him playing his trombone. Whoever invented it should be punched. With bullets. God, Jack is rubbing off on me. That's the kind of stupid thing he'd say.

"Did he kiss you?" I ask.

Specs puts the case down and widens his smile. "I kissed him."

Then we do something that is usually reserved solely for seventh grade girls. We squeal and jump up and down singing "Havah Nagilah". We're so Jewish. But whatever, he's the closest thing I have to a real friend at Pulitzer's. Besides, he's not annoying like some people. If only I could, I dunno, kill his trombone.

--

The next morning, I'm sitting between Bumlets and Specs in Biology. I never go sit with Jack even though he comes up to me every day going 'HEY DAVE!' at nuclear volume and planting a huge, sloppy kiss on my cheek. God, I loathe him. We're all pretending to care about turtles which this spineless little prick has been going on about since school started which, really, no one cares about. So everyone is just talking. I would feel bad for the teacher but if he's talking about turtles. Turtles: nature's D student as Stewie Griffin says. I know this because Swifty sneaks on and watches Futurama and Family Guy on Bumlets's television after he goes to sleep. I watch with him sometimes because it's good to watch television without canned laughter.

"So are you guys going out now?" I ask.

Specs shrugs. "I don't know. I want to but it's too soon to tell."

I go to say more, something encouraging, but I'm interrupted. He's here.

"Davey Dave," Jack strolls in like he owns the place and kneels in front of me. "How goes it, sweetie?"

He has this habit of calling me 'sweetie' now. God knows why. I think I almost prefer Mouth to it. This time, instead of giving me a sloppy kiss on the cheek, he plants a big wet one right on my lips and wiggles his eyebrows. I swear I hear groans from the girls behind me.

"Watch it, Kelly," Bumlets warns. "Jonathon might do something."

They both laugh.

"He always said don't play ball in the house," Bumlets nods his head and goes back to writing his sitcom.

I want to ram his snarky, live-action Aladdin head into his desk but I refrain, saving my hatred for Jack.

"Don't do that," I say.

"Okay, Davey," Jack smiles.

I hate him, I hate him.

Jack then leans in and kisses me again before skipping off to his seat. Yes, skipping. Mark the time and day. It is now official. My hatred for Jack has replaced my hatred for The Goonies.