Later that night, I was finally unpacked. For the most part. I hadn’t gotten a chance to set up my computer yet, because I had neglected to pack a power strip. By the time I drove out to the campus Wal-Mart, everything had been picked over by rabid freshmen.
I sat in Carissa and Collin’s next-door apartment, watching as they playfully bickered over the eggplant parmesan they were preparing. I sighed internally, and flipped through the nearby stacks of Collin’s political books.
“So,” Collin asked from the kitchen. Carissa dropped a piece of eggplant in his red hair. “What’s this new job all about Amy?”
I looked up at him. “Umm, it’s at the student newspaper. I’m going to be their Senior Entertainment Writer.”
Collin looked impressed. “Sounds like that’s right up your alley. When do you start?”
“I’m supposed to do a review of some local band Saturday night,” I said. “They’re playing at Machiavelli’s.”
“Oh yeah?” Collin asked. His love of music rivaled his fierce interest in politics. “Who’s the band? I might come out for it.”
I racked my brain. “Jeez, I can’t even remember. It’s something non-descript. ‘The Innocent Sinners?’ Something like that.”
Collin wrinkled his nose, apparently turned off by the name. “Oh, okay. We’ll see. Who’s ready for dinner?”

Saturday night, I found myself sitting at the last remaining seat at Machiavelli’s. The smoke was starting to irritate my eyes, and the bands hadn’t even started playing yet. I scribbled aimlessly in my reporter’s notebook, keeping an eye on the four guys on stage. They were fiddling around with guitars and pedals, checking levels in their microphones.
Finally, thankfully, a guy stepped up to one of the microphones and spoke.
“Hey, we’re The Innocent Sinners, we’re gonna do a short set for you and get off the stage so Tiara can rock.”
I scribbled ‘Tiara’ into my notebook, along with The Innocent Sinners’ name, making sure I spelled it correctly. The singer started in on a song, and I looked back up.
My jaw dropped in a very uncouth way, I’m sure.
It was the blonde guitarist. Typically, blondes don’t do anything for me. But this guy could have reached into my chest and pulled out my heart and I wouldn’t have noticed anything but his eyes.
The music was pretty incredible. I hadn’t been expecting anything out of a local band, especially one from a college town, but they blew me away. I spent the evening scribbling in my notebook and stealing glances at the blonde guitarist. He and the other guitarist were both singers, as well, alternating their voices back and forth on a myriad of poppy, indie-sounding songs.
They played for about forty-five minutes. My editor had instructed me to do a short interview with the band to get background information. The band packed their stuff away and made their way to the bar. I gathered my courage and approached them.
“Excuse me,” I said quietly.
The dark-haired guitarist turned around. “Yes?”
“Hi,” I said stupidly. “My name’s Amy Kildaire. I’m with the student newspaper. I’m, uh, doing a review on the show. I was hoping I could talk to you guys.”
The guitarist looked impressed. “Sure!” He pointed to an empty table in the corner. “Let’s all go over there.”
The remaining three members gathered their drinks and headed for the table. I sat, notebook in hand, and took a deep breath.
“So, first off, what are all your names?”
The dark-haired guitarist answered first. “Jack Reardon.” The bass player was next. “Tim Foster.” Then the drummer. “Noah Watson.”
I looked at the blonde guitarist. “Lenny Graham.”
I tossed his name around inside my head for a few miliseconds before asking my next question.
“Great. Great. So, um...how did you guys...start?”
Jack answered. “Well, we all went to college here. We graduated about three years ago. We formed a version of the band our freshman year, without Noah. The first drummer dropped out of school and we found Noah. We’ve had the same lineup since. We’ve put out of couple of CDs, but this town kind of just eats local bands for breakfast. We’ve been lucky to get on the college radio station a few times.”
I loosened up a bit. “Do you guys have a good following here in town?”
“You know, it’s funny,” Tim said. “We’ve got a larger following in Indianapolis than in our own town.”
“There are a few people here who loves us unconditionally,” Noah threw in.
“Are you working on a new CD, or a tour or anything?” I asked.
“We’ve been tinkering around with a new CD,” Lenny said. I looked at him and he met my eyes. “Nothing definite. No tour dates planned, except for a jaunt or two over to Indiana.”
“We’re sending out press kits,” Jack said. “To record labels. We keep hoping we’re going to be the next big thing.”
“Yeah, move over Death Cab,” Tim said under his breath.

I let the guys go after four or five more questions. They had been very kind to me, and answered everything honestly. They went back to the bar for their next round, and I watched Tiara, a well-known band, judging by the crowd reaction.
“Amy?” A voice whispered into my ear.
I jumped and turned around. Lenny was standing behind me. “Y-yes?” I asked, my voice squeaking.
“Hey,” he said, smiling. “I was just wondering about something. We’re going out to Zippy Calzone’s after the show. Do you want to come?”
I stared at him, not sure that I’d heard what he said correctly. Something kicked my brain back into gear. “Sure! Yes! I’d love to!” I said, a little too enthusiastically.
“Great,” Lenny said. Someone at the bar shouted for him, and he smiled at me and left. I turned back around, watching the headlining band, and smiled.

Sunday, Carissa and I were trying on our ‘Back-to-School’ outfits.
“Does this sweater make me look huge?” Carissa asked. I looked at her. In high school, she had been a little chubby, and had spent most of her first three years in college losing the weight and toning her body.
“No,” I said. “And if you ask me that one more time, I’m going to burn all of your clothes.”
Carissa stuck her tongue out at me. “So how was the band?”
I smiled. “I am in looooove.”
“Oh yeah?” Carissa asked. “Who’s the rebound boy?”
“He’s not a rebound,” I said, crossing my arms.
“Amy, Nick broke up with you three weeks ago,” she said. “Do you remember being devastated?”
“Yes, thank you very much, I do,” I said angrily. “I’ve moved on.”
“You have not, you’ve got his picture in your bedroom.”
“For old time’s sake!” I said. “Look, I’ll put the picture away, all right? I mean, Nick hasn’t spoken to me since he dumped me. He didn’t respond to any of my e-mails. I think it’s pretty clear that he’s done with me.”
Carissa looked at me. “Are you done with him?”
I sighed. “I know it looks like I’m still hanging onto him, but I’m not, okay? I’m moving on.”
“Okay,” Carissa said. “So, who’s the new guy?”
“One night and you’re already in love?” Carissa asked.
“He invited me out for calzones with the whole band,” I said. “What do YOU think that means?”
“He likes calzones.”
“Ha, ha,” I said. “I can’t even talk to you aymore. You and Collin are practically married.”
“You’re one to talk,” Carissa said. “You were convinced Nick was going to ask you to marry him the night he dumped you!”
My eyes dropped to the floor. I was quiet for a moment. “Yeah. I was. He led me on for two years. What was I supposed to think?”
Carissa looked at me. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up again. Okay, so go on about this guy. Larry.”
“LENNY,” I said. “He asked me I wanted to get coffee with him tomorrow.”
“Wow,” Carissa said.
“Aha! You admit it!” I said, pointing at her. “Even you think this guy likes me!”
“Don’t get too ahead of yourself,” she said.

Monday, I settled into a chair at The Daily Grind. My coffee two-sugars-two-creams sat in front of me, steaming.
Lenny walked in half a second later. He waved to me and ordered himself a drink. He carried it over the table and sat down.
“Hey,” he said brightly.
“Hi,” I answered. He looked at my bulging bookbag and smiled.
“Classes started today, right?” He asked.
“Yup.”
“You’re not skipping any right now, are you?”
“Nope.”
He laughed. “So, what’s your major?”
“Journalism. Entertainment journalism,” I said.
Lenny looked wistful. “I was a journalism major.” I looked at him with interest. “I had a really great internship with the Associated Press my junior year. Now I work for a software company.”
“You’re still very young,” I said. “I mean, you could do the software thing for a while, and then get a journalism job somewhere.”
“This gig’s already got me,” he said. “I’m making too much money to leave. Unless the band thing really picked up, I wouldn’t leave the job.”
“Well, you can’t argue with money,” I said.
We chatted on for a while about what kind of job I’d like to get, and about the band. He glanced down at his watch.
“My lunch break is just about up,” he said. “Would you like to stop by my place tonight and hang out? You’re really easy to talk to...I’d like to talk with you some more.”
I looked at him wide-eyed. “Uh, okay...sure.”
He grabbed a napkin and pulled a pen from his pocket. “Great, here’s my address. Let’s say...seven o’clock? Is that okay?”
I nodded. “Yeah, that’s great.”
I hosted dinner that evening for Collin and Carissa. As soon as I dumped my stuff in my apartment, I burst through their door.
“Guess who’s got a date tonight!” I sang out.
“Already?” Collin asked, choking on his soy milk/smoothie concotion.
Carissa looked at him. “Amy’s got a condition,” she said. “She can’t NOT be in a relationship.”
“Would you two stop already?” I asked. “I’m making up for lost time. When you don’t have your first boyfriend until you’re 18, you miss out on a lot.”
Collin made a kissy face at me. “Smoooooooch.”
“What you are doing for the date?” Carissa asked me.
“I’m going over to his house,” I said, rummaging through their vegetable crisper.
“WHAT?”
“Carissa, he’s not going to date rape me,” I said. “I’ve got mace if he tries. Now, you have to help me pick out something to wear!”
“Do I?” She asked.
“Hey, one-time-fashion-design-major,” I said. “You’ve got much better taste than me.”
“Well, you can’t argue with that,” Carissa said, leaving her books behind and following me to my apartment.
Walking through the campus housing area on the first night back to school is an experience. Kids who have just moved out of the dorms blare their stereos and get drunk as if the world is ending. I endured more than a few shouts as I made my way to Lenny’s house on Greenbriar Drive. I checked his scribbled-on napkin against the house number. The house looked innocent enough. It was a small duplex, and he lived on the left side. That pleased me somehow. I walked up the stairs and noticed a yellow cat sitting on the porch. I reached down to pet it, but it took off before I had the chance.
I knocked on the door.
Lenny answered. “Amy!” He said happily, giving me a quick hug. “Come on in!”
He gave me a tour of the house, which included a kitchen, living room, bedroom and bathroom.. His bathroom had black and white checkered tile and I nearly shrieked when I saw it.
“I love this bathroom!” I shouted.
We went back downstairs and I was surprised to find that he had made a very delicious spinach dip, complete with crackers and vegetables. We sat on the couch, crunching and talking in between bites. He entertained me with stories of the band’s road trips.
“So then Jack says, ‘Do you need a ‘teabag’ with your beer?’”
“He did not!” I said, collapsing in laughter. “He did not!”
“He totally did,” Lenny said laughing.
“So what else happened?” I asked.
“Well, when we drove back home at midnight....”

Two hours later, we were still on the couch, sitting a little closer than before. Lenny had finally turned on the television and breezed through CNN to catch the latest headlines before settling on a CBS sitcom.
“You see, this is what I don’t like about sitcoms. The situations just aren’t comdeic,” he said.
I looked at him, desperately keeping myself from running my fingers through his hair.
Lenny kept on talking. “That’s why I prefer ‘The Daily Show.’ Now that’s comedy,” he said. He looked over at me. “You got quiet all of a sudden.”
His voice had dropped to a low hush. Or was I just imagining that? “I feel a little awkward sitting here on your couch with you like this...”
“You shouldn’t feel awkward,” Lenny said. “It’s not like we’re on a date or anything.”
He might as well of slapped me right across the face. I watched him turn back to the television and very slowly scooted away from him.
“Right,” I said, quietly.
I stayed there another fifteen minutes and answered his questions minimally. I finally pretended to check my watch.
“I should probably head for home,” I said.
Lenny looked at me, “Oh, okay.” He stood up and walked me to his front door. “Thanks for coming over tonight. It was fun!”
I couldn’t even look at him. “Yeah, fun.” I walked out the door and back onto the sidewalk. I waved to him quickly, and then turned my face so he wouldn’t see me crying.

I got home at a quarter til ten to find Carissa peering out from behind her door.
“How did it go?” She asked.
I shook my head. “It wasn’t a date.”
She narrowed her eyes in confusion. “What?”
“It wasn’t a date,” I said, fumbling for my keys. “It was a ‘hang-out.’ It was a ‘get-together.’ But it wasn’t a date.”
Carissa still looked confused. I wanted to shout at her.
“He isn’t interested in me romantically,” I said. “He wants to be friends with me. He doesn’t want to date me, kiss me or marry me!”

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