Happy 2009 to All.

I realize that I haven't written in an awfully long time. Apologies to everyone, or at least to the ones who enjoy these things. I suppose then that this will just be an general update dotted with stories... I'm afraid that not much of importance has happened.

So -- I guess I shall answer common questions from everyone. Dates, grades from last semester, job, new classes, and any other adventures. Okee. :D

For the question on my parents' minds, and probably the minds of most of my many adopted parents in Chandler -- no, no dates. I did get asked on two though, both of which I declined. Hm. Perhaps if I told you about these, then you might understand.

First, let me introduce you to Jacob Stark -- extremely intelligent, inquisitive, and armed with a whole quiver of skills. He is one of Shannon's good friends, so he visits sometimes. He is probably one of those people who I will never understand, and he freaks me out. I honestly can't describe him to you. Honestly. The best I can do is tell you is that his behavior is always in what we have dubbed the Stark Spectrum -- one end being ridiculously happy, cheery, extroverted, hyper, and friendly; the other end being creepy, morbid, dark, and just plain disturbing. I'm warning you now -- I'm only describing the creepy end of the spectrum. So, if at the end of this little storylet you think Jacob is a creep -- it's because he is sometimes, and that's all I've told you about.

Sometimes he gets this cannibalistic gleam in his eye, and sometimes when he has this look -- he'll bite me on the arm or shoulder. Heeeh... He's done it two or three times.

His conversation skills could use some work, I think. Once he walked up to me in church and said, "You know, when I see you, I think of drowning kittens." Then he proceeded to explain to me in morbid detail exactly how he would drown the kittens. I obviously couldn't see my own face at this point, but I do remember my eyebrows knitting together, my jaw dropping, and just giving him a general look of horror. My personal theory is that he just takes insane joy from seeing me horrified, because he doesn't say things like that to anyone else. But I'll never know. While I was still standing there with a stunned look on my face, Hillary exclaimed, "Jacob! That's HORRIBLE!"

He stopped for a moment -- then said. "Oh. Yeah. Sorry, I felt like I should to say something to you, Jenna, so I did."

"Drowning kittens? I remind you of drowning kittens?" I demanded.

"Well, no..."

Hillary then demanded that he pay me a compliment immediately. He told me I was beautiful today and left.

A few weeks later at church again, he walked up to me after sacrament meeting and abruptly asked, "If all your roommates were drowning, and you had to choose, would you go to dinner and a movie with me?"

I remember sitting in my seat with a stunned look on my face, and it took me a few seconds to process what he had just asked. "Is that an either/or question?" I asked disapprovingly, ignoring the little excited voice in my head that said, Ooh, free food! I love food!

He opened his mouth, closed it again, walked away, and, well... hasn't talked to me since.

I think I don't have to expand on why I didn't want to go on that date.

The other one... well, I'm bringing in an old character for this one. Remember Michael Smith? He's baaa-aaackk...

If you don't, let me refresh your memory. Rewind to spring term of last year. That guy that kept "asking" me on dates, or rather, planning dates with me and then telling me about them as if it was obvious I'd say yes. That guy who made soup and dumplings to lure me to his place when he found out I was sick -- and then once I was there, popped in a movie and then proceeded to squeeze himself closer and closer to me. I kept scooting away, and eventually had to jump up, declare intense feelings of illness, and leave. He did a lot of nice things for me too, but again, I'm only telling you about the parts I didn't like. He's not that bad, I promise.

I ran into him last Sunday. I walked out of the testing center, where we have church, saw two people about twenty meters away -- and then looked at them again because I thought I recognized one as Michael Smith. It was him. I have gotten in the habit of avoiding this man like the plague, but in this case it was too late to avoid him, because we made eye contact, and he exclaimed, "JENNA!"

"MICHAEL!" I yelled back. Well, I was on a spiritual high and felt on top of the world. Nothing could bother me right now. Not even scary guys I am normally terrified of. He had a girl with him, who he introduced to Hillary and I. A little hopeful voice inside of me said, Ooh! Maybe they're on a date! Maybe she's his girlfriend! He told me that he wanted to visit with some of his old friends in Monticello and that he might drop by later.

I mentioned that we were having a Break the Fast at White House North, and that much of the ward would be there. I mean, now that I look back at it, I suppose he might have interpreted it as, Ooh! She invited me to a party! Maybe she likes me!

Whoops...

So, the next day just before midnight, I check my phone to see that I had missed a call from Michael while I had been at FHE. Oh the terror that washed over me. In spite of it, I decided that I should at least pay him the respects of calling him back to see what it was he wanted. I resolved to call him in the morning.

He beat me to it -- wet, dripping, and fresh from a shower the next morning, I shut myself in my room only to find my phone blinking that little red light that means I've missed a call. How odd. No one ever calls me, let alone early in the morning. It was again from Michael, and he'd left a voicemail. In the message, he apologized for not coming to the Break the Fast, and that something had come up with one of his mission buddies. He said he wanted to catch up and left his number. Meh. I HATE calling people.

But... twice. He called me twice. I got ready for class, and then on the way up the hill, I called. I'm terrified of making phone calls, but somehow I succeeded in gathering up the courage to call somebody who scares me to death (be proud of me!). A huge wave of relief washed over me when I reached his voicemail. This means I can get out of having to call again.

Beep!

"Phone tag! You're it!" And with that I hung up. I hate making phone calls. However, I seem to have no problem whatsoever answering them.

Michael called back later that night and proceeded to "ask" if I wanted to go play racquetball.

"Michael," I said truthfully. "I can't do anything tonight. I'm doing homework!" I was also waiting for my home teachers to show up to give me blessing too, but I neglected to mention that, deeming it unnecessary information.

"Homework? Psh. You're still doing homework?" He tried to tell me that it was more important to go play with him than it was to finish my homework or to get enough sleep...

"No, Michael, I can't go tonight."

"Oh come on, you know you want to." And we were back to that game, just like last spring. Oh, if you were here, Michael, I would be this close to slapping your face.

"Michael, I'm doing homework. I'm extremely tired. And I'm expecting my home teachers to be here soon for a blessing. I can't go!"

And he finally let me go. Finally. I have a suspicion it was only because I mentioned that I was waiting for a blessing. I wish I hadn't mentioned that and had instead figured out some simpler way to forcefeed a "no" down his throat. You'd think it'd be enough to say, "I'm busy tonight," or "No." I really can't think of any more obvious way to say no than... well, "no." What more am I supposed to do?

Hm. That was a whole lot of story for a whole lot of no dates. Mleh! That's all right, I suppose. There's always this year!

And now we turn from my social life to my academic life. Which you may or may not care about.

Last semester's grades turned out pretty well. An A- average, ladies and gentlemen! I am so proud of these grades! You should be proud of them too.
A -- psychology, family history
A- -- New Testament, social dance, chemistry
B+ -- tap dance, physics, chemistry lab

This semester? I am SO excited. So. Excited. To qualify as a full time student here, you have to have at least 12 credits, and the most you are allowed to take is 18 credits. Most semesters I'm quite close to the 18 mark. Not the case for this semester! I am taking a mere 12.5 credits this time around. Be proud of me, all!

Unfortunately, I regret to inform you that I don't think this semester will be any less difficult than before. Why you ask? Well... you see... here are my classes!

Neuro 205 (Neurobiology): 3 credits
Neuro 360 (Neuroanatomy): 2 credits
MMBio 240 (Molecular and Microbiology): 3 credits
MMBio 241 (Molecular and Microbiology Lab): 1 credit
Rel A 212 (The second half of the New Testament): 2 credits
Rel C 293 (US & Canada Family History): 1 credit
Dance 184 (Beginning International Standard Ballroom Dance): 0.5 credits

May I now express to you my very excitement? If you could see me, I'd be glowing! Radiating! Despite the early hour of my neuroscience classes, I find my insides dancing with joy when I go to them. They're going to be soooo hard. And soooo fun. Watch out world, here I come.

I know at least 80% have forgotten what I'm studying in the first place, so here's a refresher. I am a neuroscience major. And, as of tomorrow, I have three minors. Psychology, mathematics, and chemistry. I'm also planning on finishing all the pre-med requirements. It sounds like a lot, and I suppose it is, but the thing is, a lot of these requirements overlap each other.

With the neuroscience major requirements, I already have to take all the chemistry minor requirements except for one more... and well, since when did I not jump at the opportunity to take one more chemistry class? Excited? Yes. I am.

Psychology slid nicely into place too. One class also fulfilled a GE requirement, and I have to take four 500-level psychology classes for the neuroscience major anyway (Eeeeeee!!!)... add one more psychological statistics class (ooh, sounds fun) and voila! Jenna has a psych minor.

And the math minor... well... remember that I used to think I was going to major in math? I decided against that. I am two classes away from a math minor. Two! I might as well make all my joyous sufferings in math classes count for something. I love math... but I don't particularly enjoy math classes. So, if I ever decide to drop a minor, this'll be it. But I won't, because we all know that I'm as stubborn as a rampaging baseball bat.

And the pre-med... That's just in case I end up going to medical school, obviously. If I do that, I'm thinking I'll go into psychiatry. Where I'll go to med school - No. Idea. Haven't gotten that far yet.

What else do you people want to know?

Oh. I quit that blasted library job in which I worked till midnight. And... I am still on the job hunt. I wanted to work in the Central Chemistry Stockroom, but that fell through. My next and brightest idea is the Brick Oven Pizza that is practically across the street. And if that doesn't work out... I could do catering for BYU! 'Twould be grand adventures indeed.

Oh! And!

I discovered my nemesis.

His name is Alex Seegmiller. And he doesn't -- like -- hugs. Egad! Oh, how can this be? My personal theory is that he is the victim of a horrid shyness (I have heard him speak a grand total of thirty seven words in the entire semester I think) and hasn't been off his mission quite long enough... oh dear, that's a recipe for disaster. He hasn't quite gotten used to the idea that he can hug girls. Poor guy.

This is made so very much worse with the cruel irony that he is my FHE brother -- which means his phobia of hugs interferes with my absolute need to excitedly yell "BROTHER!!!!" upon sight and attack him with a massive hug every time I see him. He usually responds to this hug with massive surprise (I mean, come on, he hasn't come to expect it yet?) and instantly growing as stiff as a board. Sometimes he falls over. Now that is just bad hug etiquette. It is my personal goal to desensitize this poor chap. Heaven knows toleration of hugs will do him good in his future life. I mean, one day he'll be married! I could save his future marriage! :D

Okay, so I know it is quite unlikely that constantly assaulting him with hugs is going to solve anything. But you've got to admit, seeing that look of pure terror just before attacking him with a hug is great fun. I mean, he'll learn to enjoy it (we all hope for his sake anyway) because if I hold on long enough, his brain'll release endorphins and endorphins'll make him happy.

And I think I'm making progress! He chuckles nervously now instead of hyperventilating in the event of being hugged... and I could swear he doesn't stiffen up quite as much as he used to. And every once in a while, he hugs me back a little! Yes!

My other FHE brother (who is Alex's for-real brother and pretty good-looking, incidentally) is Dan. To think that he is related to Alex is unthinkable. I have the opposite problem with Dan -- during a hug, if you hang on too long, he starts stroking your head. Beware...!

We have some other FHE brothers, but I don't know them very well yet... One is Peter and one is Ivan. Peter is one of those guys that could easily blend into crowds and I can't ever find him to attack him. Plus he's new, so we thought we'd take mercy on him and refrain from attacking him for these first couple weeks. And Ivan... always missing.

We also have an entire apartment full of FHE sisters, which are in the ward directory, but we swear we've never seen them, except for Jenny, who is easy to find, because she's the only one in a wheelchair in the entire ward. And apparently there is another Jenna too. (Oh man. This is just asking for confusion.)

My calling for this semester in church is as a member of the Literacy Committee in the Relief Society. Oh heck yes... basically we get to teach a lesson every once in a while on pretty much anything. Possible topics: how to study the scriptures, study habits in school, family history skills, writing skills, how to write your personal history, computer skills, etc.

Speaking of writing, I send off lots of missionary letters. It is probably one of my most favorite things to do ever. I don't get too many back though. In fact, I fear little brother Clifton is dead. The only problem with that theory is that if he really were dead, his parents might have thought to post news of it on his little mission blog. Ryan isn't dead (but it is very hot in Australia). Alex isn't dead (but we weren't allowed to send him a Christmas package to Malaysia which we didn't think was fair). And, well, I don't think anyone is dead. I think everyone is alive and well...

So, I guess the whole point of this was to explain that I am alive and well. Which I am!

Love,
Jenna

The Luck of the Irish.

Why do I dance? I don't know. If you had asked me a year ago what I'd be doing, I'd never in a million years have guessed that I'd be dancing. Never. But the truth is, that is what I'm doing. Perhaps I am trying to instill grace into myself.

Fat chance of that. My right leg is about an inch-an-a-half longer than the other, my spine is all crooked, my shoulders don't line up, and neither do my hips. I am probably the most unbalanced and most accident-prone creature on the market. Let's just say I'm clumsy. Or perhaps gracefully-challenged? To add to that, my muscle memory is way slow, and my inter-brain-muscle communication has a few kinks in it. So it takes me twice as long as the other dance students to learn the moves, and much much much much longer to do without looking like a fool. I'm not complaining (or at least I don't mean to), because those are the facts. I'm pretty happy about what I can do, because truth be told, if I had never had that surgery in the first place, I'd probably be a lot worse off.

If the BYU Dance Department graded on effort, I'd be fine. It doesn't. It grades solely on how good you actually are. I'm never too far behind, but I'm always struggling. Last semester I took beginning social dance and beginning Irish dance. Social dance went all right. I definitely didn't excel. But I felt like I learned what I was supposed to. But Irish dance? Not so much. I had a few mental breakdowns just from that class... that class that didn't really matter. That half-credit class...

So spring term. I take intermediate social dance and ... beginning Irish dance, again. I've never retaken a class before. Never. It kind of bruised my ego a little. Well, a lot.

I remember when I came to Irish dance this term and some of the other students found out I was retaking it. I was met with the inevitable inquiry, "Oh, did you fail it last time?"

I blinked. "No. I got a B. I was delighted with that grade."

It was their turn to blink. "You got a B... and you retook it?"

My response went something like this... I didn't care about that grade. I was not here to add another A to my resume, thank you. I was here to learn Irish dance. I didn't do that last semester. So I'm here to try again. And I'm proud to say... although I am not even close to being the best in the class, I am keeping up. I am actually learning Irish dance. And I don't care if I still don't get an A on the retake. That's not why I'm here.

On the other hand... in social dance, I really am just barely keeping up. Every move involves me being spun like a top. Spin, spin, spin! That, of course, requires great balance, which I don't have. I have to practice spinning without losing my balance at home. If I can spin, I can do it. If I can't, I trip over the guy I'm dancing with, or even fall flat on the floor. But I'm not faring too badly... I've gotten 87s on all my tests, which I'm pleased with.

But I'm behind again in social dance. Last week I missed Thursday's class because I was feeling horribly unwell. So last night, I set off to class fearing that I'd be totally lost and confused. I decided to walk over the long way, seeing as the weather wasn't too bad and I wouldn't mind a walk. I slipped on some shoes, grabbed my dancing heels and my keys, and set off for the RB.

All would have been well, but suddenly --

I gasped out in pain, and stumbling, dropped into the grass at the side of sidewalk. Wincing, I looked down at my feet. And cringed.

I have an absolutely irrational fear of two things. Two. One is heights. The other is blood.

I saw blood.

I... saw... blood.

And I hate to admit it, but it was only a few microseconds after I comprehended what I was seeing that I started to feel like my whole being was asleep. The stinging prickling sensation you get when lose feeling in a limb started at my feet and washed up over me until it was in my head, causing a ringing noise to start echoing in my ears, and my vision to start blurring a little. I was suddenly deeply and acutely aware of each of my heartbeats. Thud. Ka-thud. Ka-thud...

A few seconds later, my brain came screaming back. I'm still here! I'm still here! it reminded me. I was not sure if I was breathing before, but then I remembered to breathe. And I finally gathered up the courage to look at my wound.

A stick had gotten caught in my shoe. It wasn't a pointy stick, but unfortunately it had positioned itself just right so that it stabbed through the flesh on the underside of my foot. Most of the bottom of my foot is incredibly callused -- I remember when I was little, and it was the middle of summer in Arizona, I ran out to get the mail barefoot. My feet have never been the same. But Murderous Stick had gotten it just right, and jabbed right into the uncallused flesh where the arch is. There were a whole bunch of scratches all over both my feet too. I'm not exactly sure how such extensive damage had been caused by such as innocent-looking stick... but it happened.

Well, I couldn't just sit there helpless on the grass bleeding.

I stood up. Replaced my shoes on my feet, and continued to walk to dance class, but now limping.

Well, I wasn't angry at the stick. I was angry at myself. For not looking where I was going and staying away from the stick. For being such a pansy after it happened... but most of all, for now not being able to dance. Why am I always getting injured, huh? It's so lame! LAME! It means a lot to me to be in good health. Before I got my patriarchal blessing, I was secretly afraid that because of my scoliosis and the surgery I got along with it, and any other medical problems I could potentially inherit, I would be unable to keep myself healthy or that I wouldn't be able to do simple things that other people could do. My patriarchal blessing resolved that for me, and I recited a line from it over and over again as I limped to class, my eyes filing with hot, angry tears.

You will be given the ability to live the Lord's law of health. Ow. You will be given the ability to live the Lord's law of health. Ow. You will be given the ability to live the Lord's law of health. Ow. You will be given the ability to live the Lord's law of health. Gasp. You will be given the ability to live the Lord's law of health. You will be given the ability to live the Lord's law of health. You will be given the ability to live the Lord's law of health. You WILL be given the ability to live the Lord's law of health, even if a stick impales your foot.

Even if a stick impales your foot.

I got to class finally, still chanting in my head that one line. I took off my shoes and looked at them. The insole of my left shoe was now stained with blood. How... pleasant. I signed the roll, and then limped off to the bathroom, where I cleaned it off as best I could. Then I limped back to class. Put on my heels. And hid in a corner, tenderly and slowly practicing the cha cha on my own.

And after about twenty minutes of that... I joined the rest of the class and danced for a bit. I danced cha cha. And it hurt, but I was dancing. I danced waltz. And it hurt, and I was grimacing the whole time, but I was dancing. I danced swing. And it hurt, and I wearing a very forced smile, but I was dancing. I danced foxtrot. And it hurt, and every spin screamed up my leg, but I was dancing. And then...

"All right, West Coast swing!" I don't know West Coast swing! I don't know this! I tried to dance as she taught us a new step. I utterly failed. Between the horrid pain in the bottom of my foot and the frustration of not knowing what was going on...

I hobbled over to the sidelines and planted myself in a chair. I am not going to able to dance any more tonight. And I felt disappointment filling up my insides and making me feel a little nauseous. I tried so hard. I don't want to retake this class.

I must have looked miserable.

"Jennnnnnnaaaaa!!!" I looked up to see Kyle smiling down at me, looking concerned.

"Hi," I said quietly. I kind of liked Kyle. He was always so excited to see me, and I couldn't help but grin back at him every time we danced.

"Are you okay?"

... "No." I proceeded to explain how a stick had attempted to murder me.

"Oh no!" he exclaimed. "Do you need a ride home?"

I considered. A ride would indeed be wonderful. I accepted the offer.

And then the instructor announced, "All right, I've decided we won't test swing until the final. And we won't ever test the foxtrot or the West Coast swing. I'm also going to teach you Viennese waltz tonight. We won't test you on that either." I thought for a moment... and realized suddenly, that I had already learned everything I needed to know for the last test of the term -- the final. I knew cha cha, waltz, and swing. I was fine. I was going to be fine.

I watched until the end of class, and then at the end, Kyle came and half-carried me to his car. He drove me home, and then helped me to my door. And then left. Mmm, I wasn't so upset about that injury now. I wrapped it up in a bandage, and ignored it.

The next day, I hobbled on over to Irish dance. I can do this. I can do this. I know I can. Okay, so I had a hole in my foot. It didn't matter. For Irish, you're supposed to be on your toes the whole time. True, my feet would be flying, but if I did this right, I shouldn't have to worry about hurting it any further. I wouldn't be applying any pressure on my wound...

I slipped on my tap shoes and wiggled my feet. They seemed to be operating all right... I got up. And started to jig.

Shu-ffle, hop, shuffle, hop back, shu-ffle, hop, shuffle, hop back. Lift, back, front, back, front. Kick-your-bum, right, left, STOMP, left. Tip, step, back, tip, step, back. Right, left, dot, hop, step. Shu-ffle, hop, shuffle, hop back. Lift, back, tip, step, back.

And then I repeated on the other side, all on my toes. And then stopped and made sure my foot was okay. I wiggled it. It nearly cooed happily. Okay. This is good. No pain. And I'm dancing. Well, as far as injuries go -- I was lucky. So lucky. I can jig, I can reel. It must have been the luck of the Irish, my classmates joked. And I decided they were right. All is well.

I would just close and leave it at that. But. I know someone will reply back asking to know whatever happened to Michael... Well, the truth is, I don't know. It is entirely possible that he's died between now and the time I said I didn't want to go on a walk with him. Last week, Michael came over nearly everyday and stayed until it was midnight and he had to leave. This week... Nothing. Absolutely nothing. So, I think I did end up winning more than a battle. I may just have won the war. But I feel absolutely horrible, and a little bitter about the whole thing.

Now that he knows I don't like him... it's like he doesn't even think it's worth his time to be my friend. I hate to say it, because I shouldn't care so ridiculously much -- but I do care. It's like there's a false dichotomy he's trying to spell out. Boyfriend or no friend... or in other words, Michael all the time or Michael none of the time. Hm. Given the choice, I'd choose the latter. But it stings because I'd have been perfectly happy with a happy medium -- Hey, Michael? Why can't I just be your friend? Did that ever occur to you? No? Why not? Gaah. It makes me feel so incredibly... disrespected.

Frustrated, but pretty much okay,
Jenna

On Finding A Voice.

The last few days of this week, I have been plagued by a chronic stomachache and a severe lack of motivation. I do believe I am starting to get sick with something, although I hope I don't actually get ill. Thursday was when it hit me really bad.

Dull headache, complaining stomach, and even a little back pain. And the idea of doing homework was just so... unappealing. And the idea of going to class (especially dance) was even less appealing. So I kind of just curled up in a blanket and sat around. Not good, I know.

And then I had the urge to make cookies. I did. Not good, I know.

I didn't actually bake the dough once it was made. I put it in the fridge and let it sit. And then I just randomly made them later when Jackie came home. And ate a lot of the dough. Gaah! Not good, I know.

So now I was feeling worse. And I felt gross. And I needed real food. So I improvised and made onion soup, but I put rice in it because it needed more sustenance. I ate that. And I felt good. Good, I know.

But then Jackie made brownies. Marshmallow brownies. Not good, I know.

The next day I had a little more motivation. I did my homework and went to class. And then came home and felt awful. There was supposed to be a barn dance tonight, I remembered. Ooooh, but dancing sounds very unappealing right now. Moving at all sounds unappealing. Soon people started showing up at my house. And our back door doesn't shut very well, and it often just stays wide open if no one goes over and closes it.

So somehow my place became the meeting place as more and more people starting coming in. Eventually Michael found his way in. I was just sitting on the couch, being anything but the center of attention. Kind of ignoring people. And Michael comes over, and sits on the arm of the couch I was on, and leans over my way. "You going to the dance?"

I sort of mumble, "No, I don't feel well. I don't want to dance."

Rachelle then pipes up from the stairs. "Michael! You coming dancing?"

He answered... in the negative. Dang. Dang. Dang.

But Rachelle somehow still has a voice where I do not. "Why not? Because Jenna's not going?"

In reply, he laughed quietly, but he never actually answered. I groaned. All right, so I feel sick, but not that bad. But Michael doesn't need to know that. I immediately took on my best I-feel-like-crap demeanor and pretty much ignored him until he and everybody else left. After that... I began to realize how bad I really was feeling. Ugh.

I was pretty much moping around for awhile, and then I called my mother. I hadn't really been on the phone very long when I heard a knock on the door. I opened it.

It was Michael. I wanted to scream, Did you not get the message? I don't feel well, and I don't want to do anything tonight. Go away!

Michael said, "We made soup for you since you aren't feeling well. Come eat it."

I blinked. Hm. Do I want to go over there? Hm. He made me soup. Soup does sound good. Hm. Maybe I'll eat it and then come home. Kind of confused, I went over there and was presented... with, well, it wasn't exactly soup. It was more like chicken and dumplings. Still good though. I ate that. And before long I had been dragged into the living room to play video games, and before long a movie was put in... Mr. Bean's Holiday. Michael's friend, Jason, had brought it over. And Jason and his fiancée, Karissa, wanted to watch it. And before I really had realized what was going on, I had been tricked into staying all night.

A note... Michael hates Mr. Bean. He cringed every time something Bean did something stupid... which was often. And, not even five minutes into the movie, Michael's cringes transformed from small cringes into more dramatic reactions... like burying his head in my side. At which point I would attempt to peel him off (I never succeeded).

So, the peel-off method wasn't working. I scootched over. And I was watching him warily through the corner of my eyes with my marching band peripheral vision skills. Okay, now we aren't touching. This is good.

I start paying attention to the movie. I imagine I might have really enjoyed it if it wasn't for -- gyyyaaaaah! In shock, I realize that some time in the last thirty seconds of not really paying attention, he had replaced himself right next to me and somehow he had gotten his hand on my shoulder and he was leaning slightly against me. Oh, no, you don't!

I squirm and scoot over more.

And it happens over and over again. Scootch. Scootch. And then he's really, really close. Scootch, rinse, and repeat. I even tried placing the couch pillows in between us, but I am still mystified at how they ended up in my lap and the Michael ended up where the pillows used to be. Gyaaah! So, that wasn't working. I even tried to physically push him away, but he was so... rock solid that my efforts to push him away were in vain and he didn't budge. He noticed, but instead of taking the hint, I do think he was horribly misinterpreting it as a flirt-back. Gyyaaaahhh... what do I have to do? Scootch, scootch, rinse, repeat. Over and over and over again. By the end of the movie, I was pressed up against the arm of the opposite side of the couch, willing my hips to be skinnier so that I could scoot over more... and yes, Michael was right up against my side.

At this point... Michael was not getting the message. I leapt up and announced, "I'm going home! I... I should rest!"

And I fled into my house and locked the doors, left the lights off, and just hugged myself for comfort in the dark on the couch. Within a few minutes Jackie and Rachelle came home from the dance. "Heeeey!" said Rachelle.

"Hey," I said. After an inquiry into what I had been doing all night, I explained what had happened. I ended by complaining, "And so now my right side is significantly warmer than my left side. He was waaaay close..."

Rachelle gawped at me. And then proceeded to feel the side of my left thigh, and then the side of my right thigh. "This side is warmer!" she laughed.

I nodded miserably. And went to bed feeling horrible.

I didn't see much of Michael at all on Saturday.

But Sunday? Well, I did have to go to church. But I've never been so tempted to just not go. So the whole thing became Operation Avoidance.

I surrounded myself by other girls in sacrament meeting. Phew. Don't have to sit by him at least.

As soon as the "Amen" was said for the closing prayer, I stood up and booked it out of there and hid in the girl's bathroom until it was definitely time for Sunday School. At which point I went to the Fish Class (what we call the Providential Living class), because I was sure he wouldn't go to that one.

Phew. So far so good. But can I make it to Relief Society unscathed? Unknown. Relief Society is in the room right next to Elder's Quorum. It would be tricky business. I carefully went up half of the stairs up to the second floor. Looked up at the top. And, I kid you not, my inside froze. Crap.

Michael is standing post right at the top.

How am I supposed to get past him? Hm. He is more on the right side of the stair... I shall dash up the left side, and... uh... I grab my sacrament meeting program from my scripture bag... and pretend to read it intently as I dash up the stairs, as far away from Michael as I could possibly manage. And there were two people between us. I walked as quickly as I could past him without breaking into a run, my eyes trained on the program in my hand, but my peripheral vision focused solely on my goal... the Relief Society room.

I pass him. He sees me. "Jenna!" he exclaims.

No, no, Michael. I am deaf today. I can't hear you. And somehow, I walk a little faster, still without running. Michael decides I didn't hear his exclamation, and comes after me. No, no, no, no! I am so close to the door! Just several more meters!

In my peripheral I see him dashing towards me. Crap. Oh, but some one stepped in front of him. That may be just enough to allow my escape. I am about to step through the door when --

Bam.

I blink. A fist between me and the door, and a forearm attached to the fist, and biceps attached to that, and shoulder attached to that, and neck... and then Michael's grinning face.

Michael. No. I duck and dash under his arm, into the Relief Society room. Success! I win, I win, I --

Crap. I didn't take into account that Michael, could, if he so wished, enter the Relief Society room. And he did, catching me around the waist. I yelp, and he pulls me close. Craaaaaaaaap. I squirm until I am free, turn around and start towards a seat, but --

"Stop!" I turn and blink at him. He starts singing... "Get your kicks at 366, etc." He had modified the classic song Route 66, and was singing about my apartment. I said nothing until he stopped singing, at which point he looked expectantly at me, and I said, "Uh... clever." And with that I turned around and found a seat at the opposite side of the room, and didn't look in his direction until he had left the room, when I breathed a sigh of relief.

Relief Society passed slowly. I prayed and prayed and prayed that we would get out a minute early so I could escape and run home and lock myself inside. Except it didn't work. Perhaps I wasn't faithful enough, because we were let out a minute late, and I was dashing for the door, when a girl ahead of me opened it and went out. And I saw, waiting by the doorway... Michael. So I steered in Rachelle's direction instead. And we initiated a few long conversations with people.

I kept glancing nervously at the door. He was still there. And then, when Rachelle and I were finished with our conversations, we dashed to the opposite side of the room. There had to be another exit. There just had to be. The unfortunate thing about having church in the testing center is... they kept an awful lot of doors locked. If we had tried to exit any other way, we would have set the alarms off.

Apparently, I am not getting out of this encounter. I turn around and see that Michael, alarmed by his sudden not-being-able-to-see-us-from

-the-doorway, had entered and was walked towards us. I stand behind Rachelle, and hope he'll talk to her instead of me.

And... he does. Yes! As he says something to Rachelle, I dash in front and walk as quickly as I can in the direction of home. Come on, Jenna, you can make it! You can make it! And then... as quickly as I am walking, Michael has caught up and is talking to me. I was unhappy, to say the least, I keep walking quickly. The quicker I walk, the faster I will be home, and the less time I have to spend with Michael.

Once home, I shudder in relief. And I don't have to deal with him again until late that night. Late late. Nearly midnight.

He starts to talk. "So, what are you doing?"

I reveal nothing about what I actually was doing, but I mentioned instead that Rachelle and I had gone to see a friend at the webcam since he lived in California.

Michael gawps, "You are so cool. What are you doing tomorrow?"

Crap! I shall say NO to anything he proposes! ANYTHING!

"Uh... school."

"Oh, me too! What school?"

"Um, linear algebra, chemistry, and Irish dance."

"Wow, you are so accomplished. I just have to write an economics paper and an ethics paper."

"Eew."

A small, very short period of silence. Then, "We should go on a walk tomorrow, Miss Jenna from 366. You know you want to."

...You think I want to? Actually, I don't... "No, not really." Phew. I said no. I said I didn't want to. I said no!

It was almost a victory. Except it didn't seem to occur to Michael that I had said no. "Oh, come on. It will be fun! You know you like walks with me!" he egged, grinning impishly.

I blinked and stared. Did I not just say no, and give my reason as I didn't want to? And what was that? How dare you try to tell me what I should like and what I should want! How dare you keep making decisions for me! How dare you undermine the things I say! How DARE you. In that split second I reflected on how utterly powerless I felt when I was with him, and I almost began to fume. Exactly how explicitly do I have to say no?

I said quietly and coldly, staring as icily as I knew how, "I don't particularly like the phrases, 'You know you want to' or 'You know you like...' That's not very nice. That's not very nice at all."

He laughed smallishly. "Heh. Okay. Bye."

And with that he was abruptly gone. I won that battle, but I'm still not sure if I've won the war or not. We shall see. We shall see.

Piggyback Serenades Among Other Birthday Surprises.

Saturday I turned nineteen. And it was one of the strangest birthdays I've ever had. No, no. Reword that. It was the strangest birthday I've ever had. I... don't even know where to start. It was interesting. It was a little scary. And yet it was probably the most fun I've had in a long time. Rachelle claims that this whole experience is... not put-into-words-able. I hope to prove her wrong. And this will probably be very long, but I hope it is entertaining. Or something.

A note on Michael first. He confuses me a little. Everything he does it so weird, unconventional, and often socially unacceptable, but somehow... still cool. I have no adjectives to describe him. Rachelle agrees. Somehow all these really, really strange things he does and says are somehow endearing. Just because he is constantly hyperactively operating, I think. He has so many surprises to throw at you... and it's like... I don't know... free entertainment? He just never stops. I don't know. I've never had such difficulty writing about someone. I'll write a paragraph, look back at it, and realize, No, no. That can't be right. That makes him sound just down right creepy. But he's not creepy. And then I try and fix it and it doesn't work... Whatever. This is my best try.

Thursday night, Michael came over (surprise surprise). I was sitting in the living room, and Ingrid was in the kitchen with the door closed. Our doorbell for our kitchen entry rang. I didn't move. I didn't feel like getting up and talking to people. Ingrid apparently was feeling the same way, and didn't answer the door either. When no one opened the door, we heard an insistent knock. Another pause. Ingrid finally answered.

There is a vent in the door between our kitchen and living room, so I could hear everything that was going on. Michael asked if I was home. Ingrid told him I was in the living room, and before I knew it he was sitting on the couch with me asking about my plans for the weekend.

Hm. Weekend? I thought, and answered, "Well... I don't really have any plans. We do have cleaning checks Saturday morning."

"Well, that's not very exciting."

"I know, and I feel like I should do something exciting, since it's my birthday and --" Oops. Shouldn't have let that slip.

"It's your BIRTHDAY?" Michael's eyes suddenly had this crazy glint in them. And it was really frightening. And I began to fear for my poor birthday. I could see plans starting to formulate in his mind behind his eyes.

"Yeah," I said sheepishly. "On Saturday."

Michael continued staring at me with that crazy glint in his eye, and an almost evil grin. "RACHELLE?!?!" he suddenly yelled.

Upstairs, Rachelle heard her name and answered, "Is that Michael?"

"MAYBE!!!" he yelled playfully.

"Oh! What do you want?"

"I NEED YOU!"

And with that I was shoved upstairs and Rachelle came down to conspire against me with Michael. Well, I could kind of hear them, but no actual words, so I busied myself by cleaning my room. Maybe if I cleaned I wouldn't have to think about it. Honestly, birthdays aren't a big deal for me. I don't really expect gifts. I just like being with the people that come with the gifts. And I like surprises. Just not when I know they're coming. "NO LISTENING!" Since I wasn't even trying to eavesdrop, I didn't answer. But I didn't hear them talking anymore after that. Then, at one point, I heard them go outside to discuss my fate. I could feel the beginnings of terror looming in my insides. Just don't think about it, Jenna. Don't think. There's nothing you can do about it anymore.

I was eventually called down, and we watched videos on YouTube with my computer together. Except I noticed that there was now a word document open on that little bar at the bottom of my screen. I looked sideways at Michael and then Rachelle. I had a little glint of hope that perhaps I could see what their connivings for me were, but after another hour passed on the computer the logical side of my brain told me that it was probably a planted fake conversation. After planning a surprise like that, wouldn't you be kind of paranoid about leaving evidence? And even if you did carelessly leave your conversation on my computer, after using it for an hour, you'd probably notice that you left it open and desperately get rid of it before the recipient of said surprise saw the evidence.

At midnight, Michael left, and Rachelle went to bed. I looked at it. First line said, "How about we take her to LA?" The terror came back instantly. And then, 'mid-freak-out, the logical extremist side of my brain tickled the back of mind to get my attention again.

"They wouldn't do that," it said. "That's too expensive a birthday surprise for poor college students. Besides, they aren't stupid enough to leave that on your computer that long. They left this on purpose, to throw you off." With a little more convincing, the logical extremist portion of my brain had restored my sanity, and then I was left to wonder about my fate again.

Friday went by slowly. I cleaned for a few hours, got tired of that. Stayed up until midnight just to say that I had been conscious for the dawn of my nineteenth birthday. And then I zonked out around 1am. I woke up again around 8am, and didn't get out of bed. I just laid there, meditating or something, I guess, until my little sister called me around nine to wish me a happy birthday. She passed the phone around until I had talked to my whole family, and then I finally got up and started to super clean the kitchen. As I walked in, I blinked. Wow, Rachelle hauled some trash in here last night. Well, I cleaned and I cleaned and I cleaned. And then Rachelle came home, and then we both cleaned and we cleaned and we cleaned. Cleaning inspections started at eleven. A little past eleven, someone knocked on our door, but it wasn't an inspector or a landlord. It was Michael.

"Happy, happy birthday, Jenna dear!" he sang, Primary style.

"Hello!" I said, sponge in hand. He looked disappointedly at it.

"You still cleaning?"

"Yes."

"You're always cleaning." He came in. Looked at our kitchen. And looked a little awed. He went back to his apartment to make his cleaner. Rachelle went with him to teach him how to line the stove with aluminum foil. And then she came back.

"Jenna! They're going to check our vents!"

"WHAT? That wasn't on the list!"

"They're checking Michael's!"

Dang. Well, cleaning the vents while they were attached to the walls was a strange endeavor. So Michael came, and took the vents off the wall. The screws that were holding them in were interesting... and Michael was so excited he got to use his tools. (He's a construction management major... so he has pretty much every tool imaginable AND he knows how to use them skillfully.) Well, after we scrubbed our vents clean and replaced them, I was hungry. I fixed myself a makeshift leftover lunch with mushrooms and sausage (mmm) and then, finally, the landlady came over to check everything. I shuffled my feet in the kitchen nervously. She started by saying, "All right. I'll start by checking the part that everyone always fails."

She went straight for the wall behind the oven. Felt it. And then turned back to look at me with a surprised look on her face. "But you've done an excellent job..." That's right. I spent hours on that wall alone. The grease buildup on it took forever to get off. I don't think anyone had gotten through that layer of grease and dirt and food splatter for years.

And then she continued through our kitchen and checked everything. And everything passed instantly. "Good job," she said. "This is the cleanest apartment in all of Red Brick." And I'm not going to lie, but that ushered in a bubble of pride. Cleanest in Red Brick. Finally. The landlady left, and I sighed in relief. Beat that. BEAT THAT.

Jackie usually gets asked on dates first, before the rest of us. And Rachelle tagged along once, and reported that she spread vicious gossip that I was messy and untidy and that I never cleaned. No. No, Jackie. I am convinced she doesn't know how to clean. She wimpishly wipes things. If she has to use any muscle whatsoever to get something off, she stops. And she only uses paper towels. All she does is spread germs around, not get them off or kill them. And I could go on, but I shan't. Suffice it to say that when she's grown up and married and her children get sick more often than mine due to lack of cleanth -- it won't be my fault. I've tried to teach her cleanliness and it isn't working.

I went to take a shower, and decided that since it was my birthday, I was allowed to have as long a shower as I wanted. The hot water was luxurious. I came out to hear a clamor in the kitchen, so I shut myself in my room and blow-dried my hair. Got dressed. Made myself pretty. Well, it was my birthday, after all. Who doesn't want to look nice on their birthday? But then Michael yelled up at me to come down. "JENNA! We have cake batter bowls for you to lick and presents to open!!!" Presents? Hm. Presents. I hoped that I wouldn't have anything useless. But I was excited to lick some bowls.

I came down to see Michael in an apron in my kitchen. He presented two bowls two lick. One was vanilla batter. The other was German chocolate. And he and Rachelle looked pleased. Kristen, my return-missionary neighbor (she went to Hong Kong), had also come over.

"Two cakes?"

"We marbled them. One is golden vanilla marbled with German chocolate, and the other is German chocolate marbled with golden vanilla." Hm. I had wanted a marbled cake. I hadn't told him though. I had told Rachelle.

There were two presents sitting happily on the table. One was very small, wrapped in tin foil. That was from Kristen. I opened it and found the tiniest book I'd ever seen, entitled, "The Paper Bag Princess." Now, I believe every girl should have this in their collection, and also every father's daughter. I also believe that every father should read it to his daughters as a bedtime story. It's short, and it's cute, and it's good.

Basically, a princess named Elizabeth is about to marry a prince Ronald. Except then a dragon comes, eats pretty much everyone in the whole castle, burninates her clothes, and whisks away her Ronald. Elizabeth then proceeds to look for something to wear, but finds nothing but a paper bag. She puts that on, and then decides to rescue her prince from the dragon. She finds the dragon and tricks him by taking advantage of his pride. He burns all the forests everywhere to show off until he's out of fire, and then flies around the world a couple times at supersonic speed to show off. Then the dragon passes out and Elizabeth finally gets to save Ronald... except then... we found out Ronald is a jerk. He takes a look at her, complains that she is greasy and ashy and sweaty and only wearing a paper bag, and tells her to come back later when she's dressed like a real princess. Well, Elizabeth tells him he's a bum and then leaves him there. And they didn't get married. What a happy ending, I think.

Then I opened Michael's present. It was wrapped in newspaper. I ripped that layer off. And then found it was wrapped in duct tape. Well, I got vicious, ripped that off. Another layer of duct tape? Graaawwrr!!! I ripped that off too. There was a garbage bag box, then. I opened that, found a whole bunch of newspaper in there. I ripped that out. And then, wrapped in aluminum foil and electrical tape, was a DVD shaped package. I ripped off the foil and found, wrapped in a grocery store bag... The Incredibles. Michael had gotten me a movie? He'd spent that much on me for a present? Not to mention that he had already provided the cake mixes and everything. (And also, apparently, he'd been fixing our kitchen drawers while I'd been in the shower.) But I did really, really like that movie, and thus expressed my delight.

"Let's watch it tonight," said Michael. I agreed that that was a good idea. And then he said playfully, grinning largely, "Well, we have an activity planned for you!"

"What?"

"Roadtrip! We're going to LA!"

The logical extremist in my head passed out at that point (how could I have been wrong?) and I gasped, "WHAT?"

Then Michael laughed mischievously. "No, we're just going hiking." The logical extremist in my head woke up again, checked out, and checked into a hospital.

"Oh," I said, weakly, and honestly, in relief.

He looked very pleased with himself. "Hehe, did you see that word document that we left you?"

"Yes," I said. "But I thought it was fake."

He looked disappointed. "You did?"

"Yeah... remember, you were using my computer for an hour afterwards. If you really had been absent-minded enough to leave that open, you would have seen it, and deleted it frantically. So I decided it must have been fake."

"Ohhh..." Well, Michael went to get his hiking bag, we all filled up water bottles for ourselves, and we left to go hiking in Rock Canyon. Once we were in Michael's car, he insisted on opening the whole adventure with a prayer so we didn't get killed while driving over. We got up to the trail head and started hiking. He even carried my water bottle for me so I didn't have to do that. Michael was keen to find beautiful spots and insisted that we take pictures every time we found one.

We were having really random conversation. At some point he wanted to know -- "Jenna. If you could have any superpower, what would it be?"

Well, of course I knew exactly which one. "Time manipulation," I said instantly.

"Reeaally?" He looked delighted. "I've thought about that extensively!!!"

Double take. You have? Usually when I answer that I would want time manipulation, of all things, people give me a funny look, consider it for a few seconds, comment that they've never thought of it before, and then move on to a different question.

"In fact," he said, "that's why my Gmail name is timelore." He went on to explain about games he had played when he was little about being a wizard named Timelore. I listened for a while, and then decided that even though he seems to have been thinking about it his whole life about being able to manipulate time, he hadn't thought about it as in depth as I had.

[Side story. As long as I can remember, I've had a little fiction story running in my head. My main character was Amadiora (of course she's a princess -- I made her up as a little girl), and she had a major secret. She could manipulate time. She could freeze it, like Michael fantasized doing, but I thought the far more useful thing she could do was rewind it, and relive it, while no one else realizes that this is the second or the third or the hundredth time they're doing this same thing (except for a minor case of dejavu). Useful? Yes. Of course. You could get an infinite amount of work done in a small amount of time. You'd just have to make sure you did everything that needed material evidence like written homework the last time through the timeline. And just think -- if you do something really stupid on a date? Just rewind time and your date doesn't remember. Just got stabbed and you're about to bleed to death? Erase that, and then dodge as many times as you need to until you get out of that fight unscathed. And I could go on long enough to write several whole books. No, I think I've thought about it more extensively than he has. Sorry, bud.]

We found a river. Michael helped us across after Kristen suggested he put a flat rock she found under the wobbly rock in the river to stabilize it. Then he helped each of us across, and we did a mini-photo shoot. Meditating... on the rocks in the middle of the river... etcetera. It was very adventurous.

We kept going until we found a bridge. We decided that this was the perfect picnic spot. Michael put down his pack and pulled out snacks. He had oranges and bananas, as well as some Goldfish. Kristen had some carrots and potatoes. I ate some fruit and some Goldfish. Then Kristen taught me how to properly use chopsticks, and from what angle to try and grab the food from. Then we had Goldfish races in the river. We got up and continued hiking.

Before long, we got to another bridge. This time, there was a large pipe running alongside it about a meter from the edge of the bridge. About twenty feet below it rushed the river. Long drop. With rocks at the bottom. Ow. Michael hopped up onto it, started to cross... I looked over to watch him, not quite sure it was the best idea in the world. And then he froze in fear, chickened out, and then crossed the bridge with me. I gave him a funny look, without thinking, and then he stopped walking. "Ooh, that was a glare of death. Like you basically just said, 'You pathetic wimp.' I'm sorry, Jenna, I'll cross that pipe for you on the way back."

"Oh no!" That wasn't what I had been thinking at all! "You don't have to --"

"Yes, I do... yes, I do, Jenna," he responded playfully. Dang it. He probably thinks his manhood is in danger or something. He'll lose his pride if he doesn't cross it now. We kept walking until we found a cave. Michael jumped in, declared it wasn't that interesting, and then we turned around to hike back. Michael kept making nervous comments about that pipe. And finally he said, almost michievously, "Oh, I know. You could hold my hand all the way across from the edge of the bridge."

Not quite sure what to say or do, I laughed a little. It was a long drop if he fell. And I wasn't quite sure a handhold would keep him from falling. It was a really stupid idea. Really. I wasn't at all quite sure what to think about this, so I just let myself be overwhelmed by the comicality of the situation. "And then your pride and your life would still be intact?" I laughed again.

"And my humility, since I'd have your help!"

Hm. I'm not exactly sure what's going on... "Okay, okay... whatever..." I said, mid-laugh.

Then he reached over and for a split second he put his arm around my waist. I had barely enough time to screw up my face into my "Holy crud, what are you doing and why?" face before he had already leapt back and was now regarding me with terror.

"What?" I demanded.

"You're... you're not ticklish!" He said it in an awed, horribly hushed, yet definitely playful, voice.

"No. No, I'm not."

"How can you not be ticklish?" he stammered in disbelief.

"I'm just not."

"Are you ticklish anywhere?"

... Hm. I don't think so. I thought. At one point Rachel grabbed my neck and I freaked out, so I had thought I was ticklish there. But no, alas. She tried it again later, and we discovered that I really wasn't. Sad day. "No, nowhere."

Michael looked so disappointed.

But then we got to the pipe. Michael took a deep breath, hopped onto it... and started to cross. Inch by inch. And thankfully, he never reached over for my hand, because it was a little far, and would have compromised his balance if he had. (Phew! Got out of that one!) And for once, he was absolutely silent. Inch. Inch. It seemed he was concentrating very hard. I would be too. That was a loooong drop. Inch. Inch. Finally, after about a minute, he got to the other side. And suddenly he was alive again. "Yeeaaahhhh!!! I got my manhood back! Whooo!!!" And he was giving everyone high-fives like he had just saved the world or something. I laughed a bit more, and I'm not sure why. I was amazed at his stupidness and impressed at his bravery at the same time. And confused too.

"Wow," he said. And then he looked at me. "I don't even know why I just did that."

I laughed a little. Usually when a guy does such tremendously stupid things like that...

"Oh well. I wasn't thinking about it. When you do stupid stuff, you can't think about it. You just have to do it."

And with that we walked some more. And then Michael started picking up these mongo rocks and hurling them into the river. Except he missed with one of them, and it didn't quite make it over the edge of the hill... so Michael, Kristen, Rachelle, and I start throwing rocks at that stubborn mongo rock with the sole goal of getting it over the hill into the river. We probably spent ten minutes throwing rocks... at a rock. I hit that blasted rock several times, but never with enough force to move it. And I was throwing fairly heavy rocks too. Michael finally hurled another mongo rock into it, and both mongo rocks went toppling into the river. We celebrated. Four-way high fives!

And we walked back some more... and every once in a while, I'd realize that Kristen and Rachelle were far behind us, and I was pretty much walking alone with Michael. Hm... I came to later find out that they were doing it on purpose (curses!)... because apparently, they couldn't help it. ("Let's walk slower!" Kristen would whisper to Rachelle. "Okay!" Rachelle would whisper back.) We finally got back to the paved road, and were getting closer to the car.

"All right, someone has to have a piggyback ride!" announced Michael at his most playful after a discussion about what he'd do if he were a scout camp leader. "It's tradition!" What? Piggyback ride? Tradition?

"I'll carry your pack and you can give someone a ride," Kristen told him. Don't encourage him! Ahh!

But Rachelle. Dearest dearest Rachelle. "Michael! I'll give you a piggyback ride!"

This was obviously not what Michael had in mind when he said someone had to have a piggyback ride. At all. But Rachelle insisted. And insisted. And finally...

Michael hopped on, unsure of what he was doing. "Waaah!" chortled Rachelle. Michael's eyes were open kind of wide, and he was laughing his distinctive and outrageous laugh. And Rachelle was trying so hard to carry him. Some of the people behind us started to laugh and take pictures of the two of them, because it WAS a ridiculous sight.

Teeny little Rachelle. Tall Michael. Teeny little Rachelle carrying tall Michael = hilarious. But Rachelle couldn't carry him very far, and Michael got off quickly. Then he dashed in front of me and announced mischievously, "Your turn!"

Oh. Hm. "Come on, get on!" he insisted, in his happiest voice.

Gaah! I thought. I'm terrified of heights. I'm even more terrified of falling. And I'm not sure I trust this Michael not to drop me. Well, I guess if Rachelle gave him a piggyback ride -- whatever. Whatever. I hopped on. And instantly regretted it. You know those moments when you're filled with terror for no good reason? Where you feel your stomach migrating to your toes and your brains falling into where your stomach used to be? Yeah. I like having my two feet on the ground. A lot. And whatever made me think a piggyback ride was going to help me conquer my fear of heights was definitely wrong.

"Ah!" I said. That exclamation was followed by another and another and another, each more terrified than the last, and my eyes were shut tight.

Michael exclaimed happily, "You're lighter than my pack!" And lifted me higher up until I was almost at his shoulders. "Ah!" I responded.

He kept walking. And then... he started singing. "Good morning beautiful..." Tenor. First tenor. "How was your niiiight..." Fine, thank you. ... And, hold the phone, are you honest-to-goodness singing to me? "Mine was wonderful, with you holding me tiiiight..."

And then I realized just how tightly I was holding on. Not just tight. Really tight. Really, really, really tight. Well, I was terrified. I wonder if that was a good enough excuse? Whatever. Whatever. I just need to survive until he puts me down. Which for me meant holding on as tightly as I could. Survive. I will survive.

Well, I wasn't yelping "Ah!" anymore because I was busy listening to him sing. I curiously opened my eyes to look over at Kristen and Rachelle. They were talking to each other, and kept glancing over at Michael and me and then grinning. I shut my eyes again. Nope, not singing to them. And he sings to himself a lot, but I don't think "Good Morning Beautiful" is the sort of song he would sing to himself, especially with a girl on his back. Okay, so perhaps a piggyback serenade is unconventional. And although he wasn't particularly good, and he was a tenor instead of a bass, and was flat the whole time, he was confident enough to keep the tune and still enjoy it. So... I mentally crossed off "Be serenaded" off my list of things to do before I died.

(Booyah, Rachel. Booyah. I win. Except he wasn't a bass. Still have "Be serenaded by a bass or baritone" to cross off... We'll save that one for random pizza delivery guys, or dashing men who are tall, dark, and ominous. Yes. That's right. Who got serenaded first? Me! Okay. I'm done.) I had just kind of been hoping that I would be in a situation where I could concentrate on enjoying the serenade when it happened instead of irrationally fearing for my life.

I was silent until he stopped singing. He then asked if I wanted down. "Yes," I answered weakly. He put me down. I wobbled a little, and then started walking again on my own. Yikes. Glad to be down. And then we walked back to the car, and went back home.

Then it was decided that we needed to frost the two marble cakes. I decided that I wanted chocolate buttercream frosting. Mmm. I started making it, and got to use my happy little alien mixer that my daddy sent me for my birthday. Then my phone rang. But it wasn't the usual ring -- it was the ring that meant I had voicemail. Whhaaaat? That shouldn't happen unless someone called me first!

So I popped out my phone and looked at the missed alerts. Two missed calls! And a voicemail. The voicemail and one of the missed calls was Kathwren. The other was Ryan. The message basically said, "It's your birthday and you're not answering your phone. How rude." So I called her first.

Kathwren and everyone else in the Burchfield's van sang me a ginormous happy birthday. I laughed. It was amazing. Sister Burchfield was probably driving, but I got to talk to her, kind of. I could barely hear her. Don't worry, Sister Burchfield. I'll be home soon. June 20th. It's a Friday. I should be home home by evening time. After I talked to everyone or nearly everyone in the van, the call ended.

Then I returned my other missed call from Ryan. And he got to be the lucky one, because I was still talking to him when Michael, Kristen, and Rachelle were done frosting the cake, so he got live birthday celebration commentary. For lack of candles, Michael had arranged a bunch of matches in a "19" design on the cake. We had to carry the cake outside to light the matches because we weren't allowed to burn anything inside the apartment. And when the first match lit...

Zschoom, zschoom, zschoom! The flames ran across the numbers quickly, and the flame licked up into the air about three inches. My goodness. I'm supposed to blow that out? Yikes! I blew. It took some windpower to get it out, but that's okay. It had been a spectacle. We ate cake, while people socialized in the kitchen.

When I hung up, Kristen wanted to know who I was talking to. "Oh, Ryan. Good friend from my last ward."

Michael heard and blinked. "It wasn't your family? Oh. And you talked to him for that long? Woooow..." Hm. Poor guy seemed a little concerned, like he perceived a threat... haha. Although the thought made me stifle a laugh, I ignored it and enjoyed cake, cake, and more cake.

Then Michael left temporarily to do some economics homework, and Rachelle and I went to the store to buy a bit of food. We came back, tidied up a little, and then Michael came back over to watch the Incredibles.

We watched it, and Michael ate scads of popcorn and Rachelle and I ate scads of the flavored Tootsie Rolls. In the middle of the movie, my phone rang. Someone loves me!

I answered. Patrice! Well, Patrice and Jackie Bodily (not my roommate Jackie) were going to come visit me. Yay! I was really excited. Patrice hugs are the best. You can't have a birthday without a Patrice hug. When she showed up...

Patrice and Jackie sang Happy Birthday, and presented me with another cake. This would be my third cake. But it looked good -- chocolate cake with chocolate frosting with "Happy Birthday" written in caramel glaze. I was delighted. We talked for a bit. After they left, Michael mourned that he made a very bad first impression and that they thought he was a major weirdo. Haha. Probably.

When the movie was over, we were happy people... it really is such a good movie. And then suddenly, Michael went for the tickle again.

And again, not immediately recognizing his advances at tickle-attempts, I just gave him my weirded out "What the heck?" look. "Oh... I forgot you're not ticklish." Yes. Not ticklish. "Nowhere?" I shook my head.

And then he got down... and pulled off my sneakers with another mischievous look. "What... are... you... doing...?" I wanted to say, but it didn't actually come out.

He touched the bottom of my foot. I glared. "You're not even ticklish on your feet!" he said. "And I thought I was being so clever, too..."

Oh, is that what you were doing. He looked very disappointed. And a little lost.

Then we would talk some more, and then randomly he'd jab me in the side, hoping that I was ticklish there. All right, I had enough of just sitting here being jabbed. My hand shot out at his core for a vicious tickle. Let's teach him a lesson...

Except that wasn't the best place to try and jab. It was like jabbing rock... I remembered him commenting about his eight pack earlier during the hike... I had assumed he had been joking. Apparently I was wrong. So I jabbed his sides, tickling with mother-like efficiency (no one tickles quite like your mother, it's true).

He squealed. I wondered if this hadn't been his goal the whole time... to get me to tickle him back, but I jabbed in the sides until he finally pulled his arms tight to his sides so I couldn't tickle him anymore. So I stopped. No use in trying to tickle a rock. And instead we tickled Rachelle. But when we did that, it seemed like she was dying. So we air tickled her, and she still almost died. So we stopped that.

But then Michael had an idea. He grabbed my orange fleece blanket that I had made at girls' camp a few years ago... and bolted. I gasped and my eyes widened. Oh, no you don't. My blanket! It is in peril!

Michael had run out the door. Rachelle and I bolted after him into the grass volleyball court, and gave chase. No! My blanket, my blanket! And then little Miss Logic (nearly recovered from her stay at the hospital earlier that day) who lives in the back of my head, said, "You know, this is only a ploy, perhaps a subconscious one, to get a couple of girls to chase after him." I thought back, "Yeah. Yeah. Probably..." and then I thought. "Crud. I can't believe I gave into that."

But then I heard the blood-curdling scream of my poor blanket, "Jenna! Save me! A strange man has me! Save meeeeee!!!" And after a plea like that, you kind of have to go save your damsel, I mean blanket, in distress. At one point I nearly body-slammed him... but then he saw my proximity and threw the blanket over the net... dashing underneath to catch it...

And he missed. The blanket hit the ground. He yelled in horror and frustration as angel Rachelle immediately grabbed it and dashed for home. She ran as fast as she could with her injured knee... but Michael gave pursuit and was gaining on her. "Rachelle! Get the blanket in one of our bedrooms! If goes in there, he'll spontaneously combust!" (It's true. The BYU Honor Code forbids him to enter our bedrooms.)

But Michael was so close! I rammed him.

He was thrown off track for a few seconds, but it would have to be enough. Rachelle dashed into our apartment, Michael on her tail, and I on his. She ran up the stairs, but only one at a time... Michael ran up the stairs after her. Three at a time. And Rachelle was nearly up top, when he tackled her. She screamed shrilly enough to stop anyone's heart as she fell, tossing my blanket into her room in one last desperate attempt to save it.

"Noooo!!!" yelled Michael.

Blanket was safe. Past the doorway at least. I leapt over the tangled mess that was Michael and Rachelle trying to stand up without hurting themselves and pushed the blanket deeper into the room so that he couldn't reach it from the doorway. And then it was victory for the girls. Success. (Although I'm sure it was the chase Michael wanted more than the blanket itself, so I guess, in a way, he also won...) Michael, Rachelle, blanket, and I all panted for our breath. Blanket wheezed a few thank you's and we went back downstairs.

We sat back down on the couch to regain our breath, I with a cup of water in hand. Then Michael asked, "You know how I crack eggs?"

No. "On the knee. Like this." He took his hand, hovering it over my knee. "And then you crack it!" He hit my knee. "And then you just let it ooze..." And he let his fingers spread out from the center of my knee like they were oozing.

Confused, I just furrowed my eyebrows, gave him a weird look, and said, "You crack eggs on your knee?"

He blinked at me, again looking disappointed. "You're not even ticklish on your knee!"

I shook my head. I can't even tell when he's trying to tickle me, dang it.

He paused. "Are you sure that when they put titanium rods in your back they didn't damage your tickle nerve?"

I shook my head, but didn't say anything. I remember being ticklish when I was little. But after not, not so much.

I then decided to check my email for any birthday wishes. But no one had sent me anything. In fact, the last email I got was Ryan's little commentary that the pizza delivery expert, Nathan, was spineless. Michael noticed this.

"Ryan again? Gee, he's popular or something..." said Michael playfully.

"Hm, yes. He's pretty much my favorite person ever," I answered. And with that, Michael's face fell, and for a split instant, he appeared to be heartbroken. But then a split second later, he had hidden that and his face was a calm blank. (Rachelle can testify this is true. His visible pain was, sadly, very entertaining, though.) Perceiving a threat, he had to know more. "Is he from Arizona?" "No... California." "How old is he?" I laughed and explained he was only my age and thus was going on his mission to Australia soon. And suddenly Michael was happy again. I stifled another laugh. Haha. Michael had seriously thought I'd been taken or something. I decided not to clarify any further. Let Michael fear.

We watched a few videos on YouTube for the rest of the night, and then he left.

Rachelle had gone to bed a little earlier before Michael left, and I really didn't feel like climbing up into a bunk, so I turned off the light and curled up on the couch. Then Rachelle came down again.

She sat on the smaller couch, and said, "Jenna. I want thoughts on Michael."

"You mean my thoughts?"

"Yes."

Hm. In other words, she wanted to know if I liked him, but wasn't actually going to ask. "Michael is interesting," I replied. "And kind of scary. And really weird..." And really playful. And really surprising.

We sat in the dark, talking to each other. It wasn't like most girl talks I'd ever had. We'd spend a minute talking. Then it would drop off into confused, thoughtful silence the next. Both of us agreed that it was probably the most exciting day of either of our lives. It also worried me. I was confused about a lot of things, as was Rachelle.

Rachelle lamented, "I'm jealous. I want a boy..."

I laughed quietly. "You can have Michael!"

She laughed too, also quietly. "No, but he's taken now." (... No, he's not.) She shook her head a little. "Jenna, you're gong to have to give me lessons on picking up guys!"

"I'm not doing it on purpose!" I countered. Which would make lessons hard, would it not? I'm not at all trying to get guys. In fact, I'm nearly, but not quite, on the verge of avoiding such attention. But alas, I've been noticed and there's nothing I can do about it.

For the past week I've been trying to convince myself Michael doesn't like me, but now I don't think I honestly can pull such a major self-convincing denial job off. It is probably (most probably) true. Which means I will probably worry about it for ages. I honestly don't like being liked that much. It scares me and I don't like the unnatural level of attention. Whatever. Whatever! I shan't think about it.

We sat in silence for a while, and then Rachelle went upstairs to bed. I laid on the couch in darkness. And I stared at the ceiling for a few hours until I finally fell asleep.

The End. (How was that, Rachelle? Satisfactory?)

Whatever Happened to Lying Low?

So I'm writing because I did say I'd tell about that date I had last week. I know I did tell a few of you who asked about it briefly, but honestly -- I don't remember who exactly I've told anything to! And this is a tad long. Apologies in advance.

Well, I wasn't sure Michael had even asked me on a date and if or when he would come get me. And it was Friday night. And... my kitchen is absolutely disgusting. Okay. So, I'm not going to lie... I cleaned for a mighty three hours straight. I pulled out the cupboards and oven and cleaned behind there, mopped, scrubbed the floor to get the stuff the mop wouldn't get. I pulled the burner rings out and cleaned the stove like crazy go nuts. I got everything. Almost anyway.

I was waiting for the wet floor to dry when my doorbell rang. I was all grungy from cleaning, and I had pretty much forgotten about the prospect of a date. But when I opened the door to see Michael there... I remembered.

"Heeey!" he said.

"Hi," I said. I kind of shuffled my feet a little on my clean floor. I really am very grungy.

"Do you have any movies?"

"Uhhh... I have two... Mulan and Enchanted. And Jackie has The Terminal."

"How long has it been since you've seen Mulan?"

"A while."

"How long is a while? Like, a month a while, or a year a while?"

"A month a while."

"Oooh, that's not very long, is it..." And he drifted off into thought. But Jackie was in the living room, and was apparently eavesdropping.

"Oh, that's okay! We watch Enchanted almost every day!" And it was true... Jackie somehow convinced him that he needed to see Enchanted, and we decided we'd watch it.

Except then Michael said, "Actually, you wanna play Mario Kart?"

I blinked. Always wanted to, never had the chance. "If you'll teach me."

And it was agreed. So instead of staying safely at my house, he whisked me off to his house. Well, it was only a fifteen second trip at snail pace. And with that we started playing Mario Kart. We did the partner game, where he drove and I was in charge of weapons. And little by little, I picked up some weapons skill. Soon I was ramming into the neighboring cars, punching neighboring drivers in the face, throwing bombs at people, etc. Michael was rather shocked. "You're vicious!!!" He seemed a little awed. "You seem like such a sweet girl!"

Uh... thanks? I decided that the best thing to do was take that as a compliment. We had almost become the perfect team, and were coming in first nearly every time when someone else walked in the door. My heart sank all the way to the bottom of my feet. James? Ooooh, I did not like him. At all. He was in my calculus class last semester -- the one class I had everyday. He was absolutely obnoxious. And somehow he'd always get perfect homeworks and perfect tests and... well, I didn't hate him because he threw off the curve. I have no beef with smart people. What I hated was how he and his girlfriend would mock our professor. If there is one way to instantly earn my disapproval it is that. Mocking a teacher.

James came over and sat next to me. And first words out of his mouth were nasty insults to Michael. Michael responded with insults back. I decided to ignore obnoxious little James and take out my hatred on the virtual drivers in the game... Michael, however, was significantly distracted by James' presence. His driving started to suck. And, of course, James used that as another thing to make fun of him with.

Please don't be in my ward, please don't be in my ward, please don't be in my ward...

And suddenly, I realized they were brothers. They didn't look alike, and they had completely opposite personalities, but it was true. Finally Michael realized he hadn't introduced us. "Oh! Jenna! This is --"

"James. He was in my calculus class last semester."

For a moment, James shut his gob. His face clearly expressed shock and confusion. Hm, yes, you wouldn't remember me. I avoided you like the plague. And I sat in the back so people like you wouldn't see me. And I never said anything.

"Wait, with Dr. Cardon?"

"Yes."

"...Remember when I come in wearing footies once?"

"Yes, and Chelsea come in dressed as a goth."

This seemed to confirm to him that I really was in his class, and then immediately he tried to pretend that we were bestest best friends. I discouraged it.

Finally, we gave up on trying to play Mario Kart. It was time to eat. Michael's roommate had made enchiladas. And they were good. I sat at the table and happily ate my enchilada, listening to Michael babble on about Albania (that's where he went on his mission) when James said something rather inappropriate and obnoxious. I blinked. Michael didn't blink, but grabbed a foot-long knife and grinned evilly as he pointed it at his brother. James screamed like a girl and ran out of the kitchen. Michael gave chase, muttering something that was not English. I assume it was Albanian. They ran upstairs, where I could not go (that's where the bedrooms were) and could hear thumping up there. I heard James' girly screams and Michael's girly giggles. Hm. I was not quite sure what I was supposed to thinking or saying or doing.

So I just pretended like nothing out of the ordinary was going on, and calmly got myself another enchilada. They really were very good. I chewed slowly, listening every once in a while to listen for evidence that my date and his brother were both still alive. They finally came back down.

They were laughing and wrestling with each other. I don't know where the knife went. And I kind of just looked at Michael.

"Oh no! I'm so sorry! I've been wasting your time! Oh oh oh... and I forgot about dessert too!" And with that Michael pulled out a bowl (but not before flinging one at his brother like a Frisbee) and started expertly making a fruit salad.

The fruit salad pretty much redeemed him. He knew what he was doing. And he was trying to teach his little brother all his secrets, but James insisted that Michael was an idiot. Hm.

Well, Michael retaliated. He used every opportunity to prove James wrong. I suppose he was not content to leave any risk of doubt in this girl's mind that James was not credible...

"James! I'm putting the kiwis and strawberries in the fridge. What about the bananas? Do I put those in the fridge?"

James blinked. "Uhhh..." He nodded uncertainly, then shook his head no, and then oscillated back and forth until it was quite obvious that he didn't know.

In victory, Michael said, "No. They'll ripen faster that way, and then they'll go rotten. And, James, what do you do with brown bananas?"

James didn't know.

"Make banana bread," I said.

Michael was pleased. "Very good!" He pulled out the yogurt and then turned back to James.

"Acidophilus. Good? Bad?"

James blinked.

"Good," said Michael. "Does yogurt have acidophilus in it?"

James hadn't the slightest clue.

"Yes," I answered. Michael was again very pleased.

"Remember if you ever get food poisoning... you want yogurt. It had lots of acidophilus... that's the good guy bacteria that helps you digest things."

James wanted to be dumb. "But what if I'm in Antarctica? Where will I get yogurt?"

Michael didn't know what to say. So I said, "Take acidophilus supplements with you. They taste like candy. Strawberry candy."

Well, James must have felt the need to restore his coolness in my eyes. So, he changed the subject to our calculus class. And soon he got to making fun of Dr. Cardon ("He was sooo autistic!") and then...

"Oh man, Jenna. If you ever get a time machine, you need to go back to last semester and make friends with me. Then I'd let you use the answer manual!"

My insides froze. What? I kind of blinked in surprise.

James went on to brag, "Yeah. I was a TA for Calc 1, and they use the same answer manual. So all I had to do to get the answers to everything was just ask the professor for it, and he'd give it to me... Aw man. Why actually sit and think through the problems to learn calculus? I just learned it from the answer manual!"

James just lost every bit of respect I might have been desperately holding on to. I had been trying hard not to judge him. But now I didn't feel guilty about not liking him. I smiled politely. "No thanks. If I go back in time, I don't think I'll use the answer manual."

James shrugged. We finished our fruit salads. And then Michael looked at the time... "Oh no! It's eleven already! There isn't enough time to watch a full-length movie! James, what should I show her?"

Well, apparently he had a cartoon collection. He brought some of it down. I didn't recognize any of it, but I agreed to watch an episode of Trigun with him. He put it in his laptop since his roommate was using the television, and we sat on the couch to watch it. James sat between us. I didn't at all know what was going on, so I didn't laugh at the funny parts... because I hadn't the slightest clue what was going on.

After that Michael took me home. And then he said, "Sorry about wasting so much of your time... but we should do this again sometime." And then he looked straight at me. "Like tomorrow."

Um? Are you asking me on a date, or not? He left, and I was left to wonder.

Well, he never showed up the next day. That was okay though. Rachelle and I made pies... one chocolate creme pie and one lemon meringue pie.

And a different guy showed up. We heard a knock on our door, and we went to answer it.

This guy's name was also Michael. He handed me a little flier-esque piece of paper. "We're having a smoothie night tomorrow. Please come! It's gonna be good!"

I blinked and looked at the little flier. Nicely made and colorful. And he seemed nice. "Where do you live?"

"White House South. Right there." I leaned out my door and looked. Well, yes, there it was. A white house. Jackie come and inquired as to what was going on. He proceeded to invite her as well. And then we said goodbye. And with that, he left, and we were about to close the door.

But another guy had been walking by. And then he just walked in and sat down at our kitchen table.

"Uh.. hi?" we said.

"Hi, I'm Gavin. I was just walking by and I saw that I didn't know you, so I figure I'd come find out who you were. What'd Michael want?"

"Uhhh... he invited us to a smoothie party..."

"What? A smoothie party? I hadn't heard about it!" He skipped over to look at the flier. "Ohh, I see what's going on..." And then he winked. "You know why he didn't invite me?" Jackie stared blankly at him, and before I could answer -- "Because I'm a guy. And you're girls."

I thought that had been obvious, but Jackie looked like it was a revelation. She laughed politely. And with that Gavin started asking all sorts of questions. And then Gavin wanted to know if we played Frisbee. Jackie did a little, and I answered that I never had.

"Well then. Next Thursday night they're playing Frisbee as a group. You guys should come."

Jackie agreed. I kind of didn't say anything, kind of hoping I could slither out of this one, but then Gavin pointed right at me, and declared, "And we'll teach you how to play Frisbee." And with that he walked out, shut the door, and...

Jackie and I looked at each other. And with that, Jackie burst into laughter. Really loud laughter. I raised my eyebrows in panic... "Jackie!" I hissed. "That was a REALLY loud laugh!"

And indeed it was. Almost instantly, Gavin opened our door and walked back in. "Geez! You didn't even give me time to walk away! That was really loud!"

Jackie was red and tried to leave. But no luck for her.

"Nuh uh. This warrants a talk." So Jackie stayed in the kitchen, but as far away from him as possible. Gavin raised an eyebrow. "No. This is a serious matter. This is a sit down talk. He pulled out a chair for and beckoned for her to sit. She did. I turned to leave... "You too. You sit there."

Crudmonkeys. I went and sat. Gavin went and explained to us the proper amount of time in between departure of the strange/awkward/ just-plain-creepy guy and safe time for hilarious laughter. You have to give him time to walk away. Well, yes, I know. And then you don't laugh so loud. Laughter of the sort Jackie just let loose could decimate some poor guy's self esteem. Yeesh. It wasn't even me who broke the social etiquette. And here I was being schooled. Jackie was so embarrassed. He left eventually.

Sunday came. We went to church. And Michael (the one with the obnoxious kid brother) followed me around. I was about to pass him after sacrament meeting, but he stuck his leg out to trip me. I stopped and looked down at the offending leg and then looked at him with one eyebrow up. "You trying to kill me?"

He laughed (it was high pitched of course, but I am starting to notice less and less just how high it is). And we went into the common area, and he threw a paper airplane at me. It crashed almost immediately. He was so sad. But then he pulled out another one, this time better made. He presented it to me. And it flew nicely. I rather enjoyed playing with it. It's not often you get to throw paper airplanes in the testing center without getting kicked out of the school. After church, he walked Jackie and I home. No big deal, I guess.

But then, just before ward prayer, I heard Michael's distinctive laugh. I came downstairs to see him still in his suit and tie. Apparently he had been at priesthood meeting. He was telling us animatedly about it. ("Oh, and one speaker said, 'Yeah, a lot of people left for spring term, and it's getting hot, but all the hot girls staaayyyedd..." Okay, Michael, what is it that you're hinting at exactly?) He had come to walk Rachelle and I to ward prayer. All right.

On the way over, he declared that we were going to take a walk afterwards. Okay? Do we have a choice?

Well, the walk was actually very fun. We explored, something I really do like to do, except with less mindless babble going on in the background. We rolled down rape hill. And Michael showed us the grass patches. They have a lineup of about fifteen types of grass, and you can feel the differences between them with your feet. There was a couple there, and I'm afraid we may have been bothering them, but Michael was oblivious. I really hope that guy wasn't planning on proposing or anything important like that.

After that we played lava monster as we climbed up the switchbacks. We weren't allowed to touch the path, but instead we walked on the walls. We found a little alcove with vine trellises and things. I was surprised there wasn't a couple there, since it was one of those spots that looked like it was made for such a thing. We went back to playing lava monster. We got to the top. And there was a fence.

I was in front, because I was letting Rachelle and Michael do most of the talking. Which is the usual for me. I much prefer listening. Every once in a while I feel obligated to say something. Hm. I looked at the fence. And could think of no other option.

I hopped it. Michael looked delighted. "You're so fun!" Uh...okay. We started to head down the hill again. And we got to the stairs. And while I hadn't really been saying anything at all, I was overcome with an urge to slide down the stair rails. I'd been practicing. I am absolutely terrified of heights. Sliding down stair rails is like conquering an enemy. Michael was a little nervous at first. Later he ending up sliding down the entire rail. Rachelle was nervous all the way through. I, of course, was terrified. But I was conquering this enemy. I slid down the whole thing by the time we were done. My heart was pounding and I couldn't breathe well. Michael took us home.

Monday night, after FHE... well, no. We didn't get a break from attention. Rachelle and I were making happy little Frosties (like from Wendy's!) with a recipe Ryan had found and sent to us when some one knocked at our door. I recognized this guy. A couple of weeks ago I had talked to him at the ward social. I think his name was Steve. I remember him... instead of the usual reaction I get when I say I'm a neuroscience major, he instead perked up with interest. (But only for a millisecond. He quickly masked it.) He was a biochemistry major. And I remember that when I asked what he did for fun, the best answer he could think of was... chemistry. He loves chemistry, apparently.

"Uh, hi... come in?" We wanted to know why he was here. And he didn't really have an answer. Except that he figured he should at least make some effort to socialize. It was a little awkward. He seemed quite uncomfortable. Yeesh, man, if you're going to invite yourself over, at least try to be comfortable... We shared our Nesquik with him as we ate our Frosties. He talked a lot about chemistry. He left after about twenty minutes.

Rachelle gave me one of those looks, laughed, and said, "Oooh, Jenna, I think he came for you!" Dang. It was probably true. No one else had seen him before. And now, since the ward directories had just been issued, he had been able to figure out where I lived. Daaang. So much for lying low. I wasn't planning on being noticed. In fact, I was on the verge of purposefully trying not to be. But not quite.

Guuh.

Michael randomly knocked on my door tonight. I went to answer it, but I couldn't open the stupid door. Okay, so our door was replaced yesterday. It's a little weird... it jams randomly. And so I fiddled with the doorknob for the longest time. Until I heard Michael's giggle. Huh. What do you want? It's like... nine. "Sorry! I can't open the door!"

I finally got it open.

Michael was laughing. Hard. When he finally got his breath back and composed himself, he stood up and asked, "You wanna go get milkshakes?"

I blinked. Hm. I had decided that if he had declared we were going to do something without asking me, I would refuse. But he actually asked. And it seemed like he wanted to do it now. And milkshakes sounded... really good. Here's a friendly tip. When trying to decide whether or not you want to go somewhere, don't imagine eating a milkshake. You'll get suckered into going anywhere, especially if you're Jenna and you love milkshakes. Especially strawberry ones. Mmm...

"Milkshakes sound good right now." And I got my shoes. And I wasn't quiiite sure if it was a date or not, so I grabbed my wallet. Just in case. Rachelle recommended Wendy's. Apparently they have good milkshakes now. So Michael took me over to his car, and the two of us went. I forget what we talked about, but he was actually asking me questions. He still did a lot of talking, but he was doing a good job of wheedling words out of me too. We arrived at Wendy's and ordered two small strawberry milkshakes with whipped cream and cherries. And then Michael paid. Ah! So it is a date! Wasn't quite sure for a bit there...

The cashier looked at me and then at Michael. Then, "Heey! He paid for you!" I smiled and nodded. And Michael said proudly, "Well, I did ask her out. It's my right." Hm. Okay. Date. I guess. Oh dang. Date number two. And I was just innocently thinking about the goodness of milkshakes. Maybe I should be more careful. And not give in to milkshake bribes.

Oh, but it was a gooood milkshake. And Michael seemed to be determined to find out everything he could about me. Question after question. And I'm not sure I liked the questions. I had let it leak that I was smart. It was like he had made it his personal goal to see just how smart.

"How many AP classes did you take in high school?" "Uhh... six junior year and six senior year, so twelve..." His jaw dropped. I felt like I had to redeem myself or something. "Well I didn't take the tests for all of them..." "Well, why not?" "Conflicts..." "With what?" "Well, I did IB too, and so a lot of those tests were at the same times and such..." "What's IB?" And so I had to explain what that was. And by the time I was done with that, he thought I was a genius. Dang. "So what clubs were you in?" "Uhh... science club, Spanish club, and then I was in marching band and symphonic band..." "You were in symphonic band?" "Yes." "What did you play?" "Uhh... bassoon..." "You played BASSOON?" "Yes."

He continued until finally he declared, "Oh man, your credentials have credentials! You are so smart and talented and..." Oh great. Now he thinks I'm perfect. Ha! I am far from it! The better people know me, the more I'm sure that they realize I've got as many flaws as the next person. And credentials for what, exactly? He kept talking. "Oh, and I just can't get over that you watched Trigun with me!" Hm. That's a silly thing not to be able to get over.

I was able to find out a little about him though. Be proud of me. He told me about his mission in Albania. And he wrote the new Albanian grammar book that the MTC will start using to train new Albanian missionaries. And at some point he hinted that he was going to need a date for horseback riding for some weekend. He took me home after that.

And when I got home I sat back down on the couch and wondered what just happened. It was a very short date, but whatever. Chemistry, Jenna. Do your chemistry. Rachelle came down and teased me a bit... "Jenna!" "What?" "Did you guys... kiss?" "No!" "Ohh... I was hoping that you guys would..." Gaah! Yeesh. I've never kissed anybody, and I'd rather not start with Michael. Yeeeckh.

Well, that's all. Nothing else really exciting (with the exception of the arrival of a birthday present form my family) happened for me. Well, actually, that depends on what you define as exciting. Whatever.

Send me love and birthday wishes!