My first crush struck in the fourth grade, in Miss Vanderee’s class, on a boy called Steven Costa. He wasn’t the smartest or the funniest or the most charismatic; I think his part in the class play consisted of doling out props to the lead roles. But he had dark hair and dark eyes and exuded a quiet sort of energy, in that intriguing makes-you-wonder-what-goes-on-in-his-head kind of way.
My friend Karley Shraeder liked him too. Neither of us ever confessed our feelings to the boy, but spent many recess breaks gazing at him from a distance on the field behind the school. Back then it was okay for two girlfriends to daydream about the same boy. When your age is still a single digit, stakes of the heart just aren’t as high.
So it is in Cornell Class, where among the flashcards and eraser bits, phonics lessons and lunchtime chopsticks, a triangle has formed.