�You exaggerate too much.�
�Excuse me?�
My editor waved a copy of my review of The Innocent Singers in my face the next day at the newspaper office. �You exaggerate too much.� She started to read my copy back to me, something I found incredibly annoying. ��They commanded the attention of everyone in the audience.� Oh really? Everyone? Even the bartender? What about the couple making out in the corner?�
I looked away from her. �I�ll fix it.�
�Yes, you will fix it, and you will fix it in the next fifteen minutes,� she said. �This has to be ready to go at 2:30.�
�I have a class in fifteen minutes. It�ll take me that long to walk there,� I said, starting to gather my bags.
�Well, then you�ll just have to be late,� she said. �Fix it.�
It wasn�t until she walked away that I came up with a good comeback. I angrily pounded on the keyboard until the story was written in a low-key kind of way. All my glowing praise for the band was removed. It sounded like it was written by a twelve-year-old.
�Here,� I snarled at the editor, handing her the new copy. �If anything�s wrong with it, you have my permission to change it.�
�I do not need your permission!� She shouted after me as I raced out the door of the newspaper office.

I wasn�t late to class, but that was mostly because Lenny gave me a ride. He had taken a late lunch break and nearly hit me as I booked it across the street.
�Amy!� He shouted out his window.
I whirled around and saw him, leaning out of his blue Honda Civic.
�Do you need a ride?� He asked.
I weighed the decision. If I rode with Lenny, I�d have to talk to him. If I walked, I�d be late for class.
I jumped in his car.
�Where are you headed?� He asked.
�Baxter Hall.�
�Jeez, what time is your class?� He asked, making an illegal U-turn.
�In 5 minutes,� I said.
�And you were planning to what, take your jet-pack there?�
I laughed, against my will. �My editor kept me late. She didn�t like my review of your show.�
�Uh-oh,� Lenny said, making a turn. �Are we going to have to go in and break her legs with a tire iron?�
I smiled. �No. But please, don�t be offended by my review. I think it was a lot better before she got ahold of it.�
�I will keep that in mind,� Lenny said. He got stopped at a red light. �Dammit!� He shouted, banging his fists into the steering wheel. He looked at me guiltily. �Sorry. I�m trying.�
�It�s okay,� I said. My mind started working. If Lenny was giving me a ride to class, that had to meant he liked me at least a little. And if he liked me a little, there was a chance he might like me a lot. Maybe he just needed time to realize it.
He pulled up to Baxter Hall with two minutes to spare.
�My class is on the first floor,� I assured him. �I can make it!�
He gave me the thumbs up. As I started to race up the stairs, he shouted at me.
�Amy! What�s your phone number?�
I turned and looked at him. �I�m listed in the student directory! Go online!�
I made it to my class just as the professor started taking the role.

Later that night, as I was reading through �The Merchant of Venice,� my telephone rang.
I stared at it, and let it ring three times before I picked it up.
�Hello?� I asked.
�Hey, do you have any flour?�
�Carissa!� I shouted into the phone. �I�m waiting on a very important phone call.�
�From who?� She asked.
�Lenny.�
�Ah, the non-boyfriend,� she said. �He�s calling you? I thought you said he didn�t like you?�
�No, I said he doesn�t love me. Or something to that effect,� I clarified. �He gave me a ride to one of my classes today. Then he asked me for my number.�
�He said he would call you?� Carissa asked.
�No, he asked for my number,� I said. �Logically, that means he wants to call me.�
�Or, illogically, it means he wants to play games,� Carissa said. �And as we know, all boys are illogical.�
�I don�t think he wants to play games,� I said. �I think he just wants to call me. I don�t know what to think. Maybe he�s reconsidered. Maybe he needed time to get to know me, and now he wants to ask me out on a date.�
�Maybe,� Carissa said. �But don�t start picking out your china patterns yet.�

Lenny did call me that night. It was around 10:30, and I was flipping through the television channels aimlessly. When the phone rang, my heart leapt a little.
�Hello?� I said once again.
�Amy?�
�Yes.�
�Hey, this is Lenny.�
I held my breath for a second or two. �Hi Lenny.�
�Whatcha doing?�
I laughed a little. He was talking to me as if we were best friends. �Nothing. I�m trying to find something to watch on TV. I should probably go to bed.�
�Ahh, the night�s young,� Lenny said. �You should be out partying with all the crazy kids uptown.�
�I�m not much of a party person,� I admitted. �I don�t like to drink. And I get terribly claustrophobic in crowded bars.�
�You seemed okay at Machiavelli�s during our show,� he said.
�Well, that�s because I had a job to do,� I explained. �And there was a band, something to watch. I couldn�t ever go there just to hang out and drink. I�d lose my mind.�
�I gave up that whole scene my senior year,� Lenny said. �I did it for a while, but when you�ve got a career looking you right in the eye, you kind of start focusing on other things. I�d still go out and drink, but hanging out with a bunch of sophomores who�ve recently turned 21 gets old fast.�
�Yeah,� I said.
�So, you want to go see a movie Friday night?�
His request came out of the blue. I was floored for a moment, but quickly regained my composure. �Uh, sure, what time?�
�Well, the art theatre has this really great animation movie,� Lenny said. �It only has one showing Friday night, at 7:10.�
�I have a class until 7,� I said. �I don�t know if I could make it there in time.�
�Where�s your class?� Lenny asked.
�Marks Hall.�
�Oh, you could totally make it. There will be trailers and commericals and the �Let�s Go Out to the Lobby� stuff before the movie actually starts,� Lenny said. �C�mon...�
I pretended to think it over. �Okay.�
�Great!� Lenny said. �I�ll save you a seat. Look for me in the theater.�
He wasn�t going to wait for me? He wasn�t going to buy my ticket? I couldn�t believe it. Another non-date with my non-boyfriend.
�All right,� I said. I wanted to back out, but I just couldn�t do it. Something about Lenny made me believe that it would just take a few more meetings to convince him that I was girlfriend material. �I�ll look for you.�
�Fantastic,� Lenny said. �I gotta go. Have a good night, okay? Bye!�
�Bye,� I said. I hung up the phone and stared at the muted television. I picked up the remote pushed the power button, got up and locked my door and went to bed.

The rest of the week went by in a blur. Classes kicked into gear and I spent Wednesday and Thursday nights camped out on my couch reading assignments and finally choosing a topic for my Media Law mid-term paper. I churned out two or three easy stories for Back-to-School events for the newspaper. Lenny didn�t call me, and I didn�t run into him on campus. By Thursday night, my nerves had settled down a little and I was so engrossed in my reading that whole minutes went by when I didn�t think about him.
But Friday morning, however, was a different story. I woke up feeling certain I was going to throw up. I took my shower and applied my makeup very carefully and then went about choosing an outfit for the day. I settled on jeans and a sweater, a nice date-ish outfit that still looked casual enough for class. I shoveled mascara and lipstick in my bookbag and then raced out of my apartment.
I went to my early afternoon class and then ate a quick lunch. I dropped by the newspaper office and found that my editor was nowhere in site. I worked on a couple of stories and finally picked up my bags at 4:30 to trudge toward my 5 p.m. class.
I sat there, nervously listening as the professor prattled on about Shakespeare�s techniques, doodling listlessly on the margin of my notebook. I checked my watch every ten minutes.
Finally the professor let us go. The class had opted to not take a break in the middle of the class so we could all leave ten minutes early. As bookbags were being gathered, kids talked about what bar they would be hitting up that night and how wasted they would get, considering no one had a class the following day.
I shook my head and darted quickly into the girls� bathroom to reapply my mascara and lipstick. I fussed with my hair for a second and then took off toward the uptown area and the theater.
I made it there by 7:02, and found Lenny walking up to the ticket booth.
�Lenny!� I shouted, out of breath.
�Amy, hi!� he said. He stepped away from the booth before buying his ticket and offered me a quick little hug. �You made it here early!�
�The professor let us out a bit early,� I said. I struggled to pull my bookbag off my shoulders. �Looks like I didn�t miss the trailers.�
�Right,� Lenny smiled. We walked to the ticket booth together and Lenny stepped up first. I waited to hear how many tickets he was buying.
�One, please,� Lenny said. The girl in the booth smiled and ripped off a ticket for him. I sighed and looked down at the ground as I walked up to the booth next.
�One, please. Student,� I said.
�Can I see your ID please?� The girl asked.
I rifled through my bookbag til I found my wallet and showed her my ID. She ripped a ticket off for me.
�Thank you,� she said brightly.
�Yeah, thanks,� I mumbled.
We walked into the lobby and Lenny pointed at the concession stand. �Do you want to share a popcorn?� He asked.
He didn�t want to buy a ticket for me, but he was ready to share a bag of popcorn? I couldn�t understand him. He looked at me, concerned.
�Are you okay?� He asked.
�Fine,� I said. �Yes, I would like to share a popcorn.�
Lenny ordered the medium sized bag and I got a soda. We walked into the theater and found some seats. I half-expected him to make sure there was an empty seat between - a buffer zone, something that would explain to everyone else that we were most certainly not on a date.
He didn�t though. He sat down right next to me and put the popcorn between his thigh and the armrest, where it would be easily accessible for both of us. I stole a piece and ate it and he smiled at me.
�So do you like animation?� He asked. He laughed at himself. �I guess I should have asked that before I chose the movie.�
�I like animation a lot,� I said.
�Good,� he sat back in his seat and grabbed a handful of popcorn. �I hear this is supposed to be really great, it has a bunch of different animated shorts from around the world.�
�Cool,� I said. I sipped my soda and waited for the movie to start. I was feeling uncomfortable and wary of Lenny.
�How was school?� Lenny asked. �Jeez, I sound like my mom.�
�School was fine,� I said, nibbling on some popcorn.
�What classes are you taking?� he asked.
�Media Law, Shakespeare�s Tragedies, Film Basics 2 and Review and Criticism,� I said absent-mindedly.
�That�s quite a plateful,� Lenny remarked. �Are you set to graduate on time?�
�Yeah, in June,� I said. �Fingers crossed, of course.�
�Fingers crossed.�
We sat in silence for a few moments, watching as the stills with scrambled movie titles were replaced with dimmed lights and trailers for upcoming indie films.
�That one looks good,� Lenny said, pointing at the screen. �I really like Scarlett Johanssen, she�s very expressive.�
�She was great in �Lost in Translation,�� I said.
�Yeah! Right?� He said. �When she�s wandering through Japan, and she�s totally not involved in anything, just floating along?�
I nodded. �She was intense.�
The movie finally started and I noticed how crowded the theater was. Soon, everyone was laughing at the antics of two popcorn kernels talking about commercialism.
I watched in awe at shorts from China and Germany and Brazil. The stories were radically different, but knowing that someone drew everything that was moving on the screen was a humbling experience.
I reached for a piece of popcorn and my hand brushed Lenny�s. I felt an electricity flow through my fingertips.
�Sorry,� I whispered, yanking my hand back.
Lenny jokingly grabbed the bag of popcorn and held it to his chest. �Stay back!� He said, grinning. He put it back down. �Take some,� he said.
I reached in and pulled out a few pieces and then slumped back into my chair. I made sure to look everytime I went for a piece of popcorn after that.
The movie was long. Combined, the shorts made up about two and a half hours. When Lenny and I emerged from the theater, the slowly fading sun had already set and sophomore girls were truding up Clark Street�s massive hills in mini skirts and four-inch heels.
�Stupid,� I said, louder than I meant to.
�What?� Lenny asked.
�Those girls,� I said, pointing across the street discreetly. �They�re dressed like they�re going to the BET Awards or something.�
Lenny laughed. �Aww, c�mon, you�ve never dressed like that to get a guy�s attention?�
I didn�t laugh. �No.�
�Well, good,� Lenny said, suddenly serious. �Because you don�t need to.�

We decided to stop at The Daily Grind for a cup of coffee before calling it a night. We again paid seperately for our coffee and I began to wonder if I should just come out and ask Lenny if he wanted to go on a date with me. Maybe he was shy.
I stirred my coffee and listened to Lenny go on and on about one of the animated shorts. I laughed when apropriate, but for the most part I was thinking of ways to approach the subject.
Lenny paused in talking to take a sip of coffee and I opened my mouth.
�Lenny?� I asked.
�Yes?�
�Do you want to go on a date with me? A real date, the kind with dinner and a movie and possible romantic aspects?�
Lenny stopped drinking his coffee but still held the mug near his face. He looked at me, and then sat the cup down.
�Umm, gosh, Amy,� he started. He looked down. �I, um, I don�t know about that. It�s just, that, well, you�re a really great girl and you�re very intelligent and funny, it�s just that....I don�t know if I....feel that way about you.�
He looked up at me.
I stared at him. He didn�t �feel that way� about me? He just told me I didn�t need to dress like a skank to get a guy�s attention, and he didn�t �feel that way� about me? He asked me to come to his house, and then to go to a movie with him, but he didn�t �feel that way� about me?
�Oh, okay,� I said, trying to bite back screams and tears. �All right. Well, guess I didn�t know til I tried.�
�Amy, I don�t hate you or anything,� Lenny said. �And I still want us to be friends.�
�Yeah, friends,� I said. I picked up my bookbag.
�You�re leaving?� He asked.
�Yeah, I�ve got stuff to do.�
�Do you want me to call you later?�
�No, no, that�s okay. Don�t worry about it,� I said. I pulled the bookbag�s straps over my shoulder. �Don�t worry.�
�Amy, please don�t be angry with me. I can�t help the way I feel.�
I turned and for the first time finally gave him a cold look. �Of course.�
I threw away my Styrofoam coffee cup and napkin and walked across the floor. I pushed open the door, sending a warm, early-autumn breeze into the shop, watching as it rustled Lenny�s hair.