It was early summer between my ninth and tenth grade years. It was that special part of summer where school was out, the fragrance of flowers still filled the air, yet the summer heat had not overtaken us enough to chase us into the shade with large glasses of sun tea and a garden hose. When a man's fancy still turned to love.

I drove by her house every day upon finishing my paper route. We shared several classes, went to the same church, but no more than fifty words all told had passed between us. We were heading into high school and something in the back of my mind told me it was right, it was proper, to head into the new school year with a bee-yoo-tee-full woman hanging off of my arm. It was still a pretty innocent time, I had no idea what I would DO with said bee-yoo-tee-full woman, just knew it was right and proper for a young man to be escorted by such ladies.

And she was perfect. Blue eyes, brown hair, a smile that would melt your heart, and smart to boot. She was a cheerleader, which I was supposed to consider outta my league, but like ol' Senor Quixote, long my hero even at the tender age of fifteen, I was wont to tilt at the occasional windmill. My bicycle was my faithful steed Rocinante, and she the lovely Dulcinea, whose fair hand I would surely win.

And this was the day. I would finally go out there and say something. I would do something to win the hand of this fair maiden, no matter what it cost me. My feet pedaled in perfect tempo with the furious beating of my heart as I raced the few scant miles that separated her home from mine, to sweep her off her feet and carry her off into the sunset. Or something like that.

I turned on the street by her house and I walked up to the door. I confidently thumped on the faded screen, but my confidence faded as soon as she opened the door. She was so lovely, and I was so...well.

I then professed my undying love to her then and there. She acknowledged graciously, without returning the affection. I was embarrassed, but I wasn't crushed. She actually had enough class to not crush me like a bug, even though she well could have.

Between then and the first day of school, I half anticipated, half dreaded the coming of that school year. Anticipated because I would once more be in the company of my lovely Dulcinea, dreaded because I had embarrassed myself something awful.

We went through four more years of school together and the topic of that day was never again broached. It was a few years later that I realized how much power she wielded in the world of teen angst. She could have easily related the incident to all of her friends, exposing me for the hopeless geek I really was.

Yet she didn't. And to me, as the years have gone by, that has made her all the more beautiful.