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Saturday, December 5 Over. That is what my life is. O-V-E-R. I know I have said that before, but this time I really mean it. Why is my life over? Because I have a boyfriend. And, yes, at fourteen years of age, I suppose it’s about time. I mean, all my friends have boyfriends. All of them, even Lilly, who blames the male sex for most, if not all, of society’s ills. I have to admit, when Lilly — possibly the choosiest person on this planet — got a boyfriend and I still didn’t have one, I pretty much started to think there was something wrong with me. And then, one day, out of the blue, I got one. A boyfriend, I mean. Well, OK, not out of the blue. Kenny, from my Bio class, started sending me all these anonymous love letters. I didn’t know it was him. I kind of thought (OK, hoped) someone else was sending them. But in the end, it turned out to be Kenny. And by then I was in too deep, really to get out. So voila I had a boyfriend. Problem solved, right? Not. So not. It isn’t that I don’t like Kenny. I do. I really do. We have a lot in common. For instance, we both appreciate the preciousness of not just human, but all life forms. And we both like science fiction. Kenny knows a lot more about it than I do, but he has been very impressed so far by the extent of my familiarity with the works of Robert A. Heinlein and Isaac Asimov. I haven’t told Kenny that I actually find most science fiction boring, since there seem to be very few girls in it. Mostly, we get along great. We have a fun time together. And in some ways, it’s very nice to have a boyfriend, you know? Sometimes I think I must be the luckiest girl in the whole world. Think about it: I may not be pretty, but I am not ugly. I live in New York City, the coolest place on the planet; I’m a princess; I have a boyfriend! What more could a girl ask for? Oh, God. Who am I kidding This boyfriend of mine? I don’t even like him. Well, OK, it’s not that I don’t like him. But this boyfriend thing, I just don’t know. Kenny’s a nice enough guy, I mean, he is funny and not boring to be with, certainly. And he’s pretty cute, you know, in a tall, skinny sort of way. It’s just that when I see Kenny walking down the hall, my heart doesn’t start beating faster, the way girls’ hearts start beating faster in those teen romances my friend Tina is always reading. And when Kenny takes my hand, at the movies or whatever, it’s not like my hand gets hot in his, the way girls’ hands do in those books. And when he kisses me? Yeah, you know those fireworks people always talk about? OK, forget it. No fireworks. Nil. It’s funny because before I got a boyfriend I used to spend a lot of time trying to figure out how to get one and, once I got him, how I’d get him to kiss me. But now that I actually have a boyfriend, mostly all I do is try to figure out how to get out of kissing him. So I decided I have to tell him. Kenny, I mean. About how I really feel. That’s why my life is over. Because how do you say to somebody who wants to hold your hand in the movies that you don’t like him in that way? Especially when he’s already asked you out a bunch of times and you’ve gone. And you knew the whole time that he wasn’t asking you as a friend — he was asking you as a potential life mate. And now everybody considers us this big thing. You know? Now we’re Kenny-and-Mia. All I can say is, be careful what you wish for. It just might come true.