This was a particularly big day for Joe. He had been planning this all year. Hell, if he was honest with himself, he had been planning this since he saw her in geometry. Joe would remember coming home from the eighth grade that first day and trying to invent a reason to talk to Lindsey. But on the first day, and probably for months of days after that, the only excuse he could come up with would be to ask if she knew the Capital of New Hampshire or if she had the same answer of x=y/z for their homework assignment. Neither of which would be particularly romantic.

In passing periods, Joe would try to slow his step or wait on the side of the hallway so that he could walk nearby and float along the unique fragrant waves of vanilla and apple that came from her favored body spray. Joe, a lean Italian young man of twelve who had already started shaving and had already kissed two girls, enjoyed the sound of Lindsey’s heels on the sidewalks outside. Joe wondered often how it was possible that one shoe would make a different higher sound then the other; one clipped, the other clopped. Joe had the feeling that Lindsey’s shoes would take different sides if she had asked them to, nothing and no one could turn her down.

Lindsey was Joe’s first love. After long stretches of imagined run-ins invented out of late night pranks from his friends and his Italian mother’s old movies, Joe had come up with a brilliant plan to set himself apart and get Lindsey to love him in return.

It was lunchtime and the grating sound of silverware and plates was softly whispering underneath the loud storm cloud of gossip and teasing. Joe patted his pocket for luck, checking to make sure he had what he needed. He scraped his seat back, tossed his half eaten burrito in the waste basket with a swish, and headed over to Lindsey’s table. She was sitting on the edge leaning forward, her legs crossed and dangling over the edge. From this position Lindsey was able to meet Joe at eye level.

“Hey,” Joe said boldly. Outwardly, he was cool, as if he came up to her regularly. As if the cafeteria hadn’t just had its volume turned down.

“Hey,” Lindsey echoed.

“I’ve got a dare for you,” Joe said. Lindsey’s friend giggled.

“For me?” Lindsey replied being the natural example of cool that Joe tried to emulate. His heart pinched at the way she was looking at him. He reached in his pocket and pulled out the goods.

“Yeah. Here,” he said. Joe took out two crunchy packages, each containing an atomic grade candy fireball. They looked like tiny red balloons in plastic. “I dare you to keep these, under your tongue, for three minutes.”

Lindsey smiled, “Why should I?”

Joe glanced around at the attention that they were receiving, knowing that this was part of his plan. In eighth grade, you didn’t turn down a dare; not at lunch time, not in front of your friends, not to the opposite sex.

“For twenty dollars,” Joe said as if she needed a reason, as if he needed to bribe her.

“All right,” Lindsey twinkled. She uncrossed her legs, pushed out the little red candies and popped them into her mouth, opening it again quickly and rotating around in a half moon arc, demonstrating to everyone that she was following through. “Ahhh,” she mumbled.

Children, particularly eighth graders, own the world, who haven’t confronted the fear of high school, of co-ed gym or seniors that couldn’t possibly be that tall. For now, they look at sixth graders as if they were kindergarteners. They talk to their teachers as if they don’t still have mothers who wash their clothes or prepare their dinners. They talk about life as if they are already midway through it. Eighth graders are sassy, confident, all of them cherry red convertibles. They are already the rap singers, the movie stars, the millionaires that they intended to become.

What is particularly remarkable about this aspect, is that eighth graders see love without the dirty screens and puckered flavor. Children don’t know this, but having that quality is rare and fleeting. Joe wasn’t thinking that he was seizing the beauty of his age. As soon as Lindsey’s cheeks were turning red, Joe immediately started thinking that this was a mistake.

But you know what else children don’t know, that there are no real mistakes.

Lindsey’s eyes were watering, her grip on the edge of the table was turning her knuckles white. The temporary quiet that had encapsulated the lunchroom was making up for lost time, speeding up like the brass bar on the wheels of a train. Likewise, there appeared to be steam; some rising from the floor as people pushed nearer to get a better view and steam from Lindsey’s ears.

“Thirty more seconds,” Joe shouted over the roar.

Just as Joe wished he could take it back, go back to the drawing board and find a more humane way of getting Lindsey’s attention, he knew he couldn’t back down now. Lindsey was smacking her hand on the lunch table. Squeals of praise and punches in the air overlapped one another as the last ten seconds were counted down.

“Four…three…two…one!” Joe yelled. And the eight grade lunch room boiled over with applause.

Lindsey spit out the two slobbery pink balls and dropped them on her lunch tray. Then, in a calculated moment of her own, stood up from the table and sauntered over slowly to Joe. Joe’s shoes felt hot on his feet as she closed in. Lindsey held out her hand, palm up.

“Cough it up, Joe.”

Joe reached in his pocket, and pulled out the pristine folded reward, already in place for this very moment. As he handed it to her, the crowd morphed into individual news channels, re-caping the moments and replaying the scene from their exaggerated imaginations.

“You earned it,” Joe said.

Lindsey smiled genuinely, she was proud of her accomplishment. “Thanks.”

Feeling the warmth from her success, Joe hardly noticed Lindsey lifting his hand up and writing on it a series of numbers. He was thinking about the way her hair shined on the frayed strands and the way she spoke his name. Only as she let go, did he realize what she had just given him. Joe looked down disbelievingly at his hand.

“You earned it,” Lindsey said, and went back to the table for seconds, even though she had already had her share of the excitement.