October 30, 1982

When Collins told me there was someone he wanted me to meet, I wasn't expecting this.

I was expecting another boyfriend of his, one of those oddly effeminite eyeliner-wearing guys, who, according to Collins, is only being used for his extensive supply of marijuana. (From what I hear, however, their nightly gatherings stretch late into the night, long after the evening's pot has been all used up.)

So you can imagine my surprise when an auburn-haired girl with great breasts snuck up behind Collins in a practically see-through shirt and watching me with these sexy brown eyes. I was not expecting this. "Playing for our team now, Col?" I ask him casually, pulling the bottom of my shirt down so the girl doesn't think I'm exactly as rude as I actually am.

She notices. "I know you are," she tells me, grinning, and I blush and mumble something that in some universe resembles an apology. She's gorgeous and I'm giddy. And believe me, Roger Davis is never giddy.

"No, Roger, I'm not," Collins tells me. "This is my friend Maureen. She's a sophomore." Turning back to the girl, he explains, "Captain Crude over here is Roger Davis, a sophomore like you. He thinks he's all that, just 'cause he sings pretty well, writes music and wears tight pants."

I grin at the reasonably accurate description of myself. "You forgot my unmeasurable dating history," I shoot back.

"No, I didn't," Collins retorts dryly. "If I thought it existed, I'd be happy to share it with our lovely lady over here, but the fact is that sixteen-year-old Roger is, in fact, likely to never lose his virginity." He shoots Maureen a look as if to check that she isn't offended, but she looks more amused than anything. In an attempt to entertain her, I playfully kick Collins in the knee. It's great to be tall, even if the person I'm kicking is just as tall as I am and definitely stronger.

Then again, Maureen is pretty tall herself, with the tops of her chocolate-colored curls reaching my eyes. That's pretty good for a sophomore, especially since I know seniors whose heads only reach Collins' shoulders.

Seeing the two of them stand together, I feel something that must be the exact opposite of déjà vu. I realize what it is almost instantly: I have never seen Collins beside a girl other than his mother and sister.

Tom Collins is not usually one to hang out with girls. He's socially awkward – but then again, I've caught flashes of this girl in the hallways, and she's no more skilled in the department of social prowess than he is. Thankfully, I've managed to resist this social idiocy, even despite being Collins' best friend for over two years. I've been his best friend since I was in eighth grade, lurking behind the middle school and smoking, looking over at this weird kid behind the high school doing the same.

So I know two things about Maureen. One: That she must be incredibly interesting, to be drawn to Collins, of all people. And two: That – oh my god – she must be one special girl, to draw Collins to her, considering the fact that for all my insistance, he hasn't socialized with a single girl whose last name isn't Collins since long before I met him.

So with the three of us – dramatic, flamboyant Maureen Johnson; devious, intelligent Tom Collins; artistic, romantic Roger Davis – there is a particularly strong group of friends. Maureen doesn't feel like a newcomer, nor do I feel uncomfortable in her presence. No, she just seems to be a third part to the twosome Collins and I have shared for the past two years.

We've just met today. I don't know if she's going to be the new best friend of Collins and me, or a close friend, or anything. I know that she's hot, and I know that she's sweet and friendly and really interesting, and I know that I'll buy lunch for the three of us if we do Drive-Through.

So we do. We hop into Collins' car, skidding through our suburban dungeon at the forbidden speed of eighty-four miles per hour. With Collins driving, I manage to grab the front seat for myself, but Maureen insists on using my lap as a seat. I don't know what it is with her and other people's bodies, but she seems to have this thing where she's always touching people. I don't get it, but I sure don't mind when she plucks a cigarette from my mouth and takes a drag from it, smirking and telling me, "I like guys who smoke."

"You," Collins tells her as he merges onto the highway (due to the fact that there's no point in driving anywhere if we aren't going to leave town), "need to chill."

But if there's any change in her personal temperature, it's in the opposite direction of chill – Maureen snakes her hand up her own leg and meets my eyes seductively. Movies tell me what I should do next: fumble through an excuse to get out of the car and press Maureen against the wall of some shitty gas station. But considering the fact that I'm having a free lap dance, I don't move at all, watching her mildly as she runs her fingers down her neckline and chest.

"Okay, yeah," says Collins, still not taking his eyes off the road. "If you two are going to do it, that's fine, but please, Roger, do not ejaculate in my car."

"Hey," I protest, "it already looks like shit. Nothing I can do is gonna change that."

"If anyone could make this look like more of a shithole, Roger, it's you," Collins promises me. Then he checks the car clock and adds, "Oh, and look that that. You two have known each other for a half hour, and you still haven't kissed yet?" He winks at Maureen, leaving me completely bewildered until I feel Maureen's lips on my cheek.

She explains, "I can't reach your mouth," and leaves it at that.

We pull up at some fast-food Drive-Through, and Maureen hisses sharply. "What?" I ask.

"I'm gonna get fat," she whines, pinching her nonexistent fat around her stomach. I bat her hands away, speechless, and point out that the next time I hear a girl say that, no matter how hot she is, I'm just going to have to walk away. Maureen just groans and wails, "You don't understand."

"Sure he does," Collins interjects. "He's a performance artist, just like you, except I don't think any music sucks as badly as his does. – Sorry, Roger." I punch him, but know that he really loves my lyrics, so I just ignore it from there as he continues, "So yeah, he knows all about appearances and shit. But does that stop him from having his dad's double chin? Nope."

Again, I punch him, and self-consciously reach a hand up to my chin. Maureen giggles. "You aren't fat, Roger," she assures me, "even though I am."

Just because she is a very hot girl does not mean I can't hit her. It's because she probably hits as hard as I do that I can't hit her, so I don't. "You aren't fat, Maureen," Collins and I insist in unison, and as if to prove it to her, he pulls up by the Drive-Through speakers and orders a large cheeseburger, two large veggieburgers with cheese, a soda, and three orders of fries. Maureen waves her hands around in protest, but we don't listen to her.

"Wait – are you a vegetarian?" I ask her in shock once we have our food. I guess I didn't notice the two veggieburgers Collins ordered until I actually saw hers. And I've definitely never met anyone so hot who doesn't eat meat.

She blushes. "Yeah…"

"Hey, that's cool," I tell her. "I totally respect that." Sinking my teeth into my cheeseburger, I explain (in a muffled tone, of course, around the meat and cheese and who-knows-what-else), "I'd try it, but these are just too good, you know?"

With a grin, Maureen tells me, "Those were my favorite food before I went veggie, I swear. My uncle, though, he's a total vegan, and he can make a veggieburger that tastes exactly like the real thing. They're so addicting – I'll bring you one some time, if you want."

"Sure," I tell her, already not believing her. "Five bucks says I can tell the difference."

Collins, his feet up on the steering wheel now that we're parked in a parking space, informs me that "You really can't. They're that good."

"Yeah, but this is Roger Davis, the Meat Machine." When Maureen gives me a curious look, I escape humiliation by winking and telling her, "In more ways than one."

With a roll of his eyes, Collins sets his burger down on his lap and announces, "Because of that, I don't think I can eat anymore, Roger. Thanks."

"Don't mention it," I tell him. "If anyone in this car could stand to lose some weight, it's you, buddy."

His hand flies out to smack me, but I catch it in my fist and force it back against his chest. We have wrestling matches at home all the time, mainly because we're guys and need to get rid of our extra testosterone, but never in a car in the presence of a girl. Somehow, though, I suspect Maureen might be willing to participate sometime. Without Collins, because I think it'd just get kind of messy at that point.

"Hey, Maureen?" I ask casually.

"Yeah?"

Faking a blush, I mumble, "You're kind of squashing me. I mean – not that you're fat, or anything. It's just, you're sitting on an organ I need to reproduce."

When she shifts a bit, I glance down, and oh, shit.

"You know what, Collins?" Maureen says cheerfully, saving the day. "I think me and Roger are gonna go take a walk over by that building over there, 'kay?"

Collins rolls his eyes. "I don't think you guys are out to get food, or anything," he tells me dryly, pressing a five into my hand, "but on your way back, stop and pick up some smokes, okay?"

"Will do," I tell him, and break into a run with Maureen hot on my heels.

God, she's hot. When we reach the building we intend to make out on, she surprises me by taking the initiative and shoving me against the wall.

Well, hey. Any girl who can do that is probably decent in bed, right?

We're gonna be friends, and we're gonna be together, and it's all gonna be great.

At least, just as long as Collins is waiting in the car.