Things get slightly more interesting by Friday evening, when the first of two unusual e-mails arrives. I’m hoping for a message from Jenny, but instead, the address in my inbox makes me flinch in shock: email@example.com. Andrew Fallstaff, as in my eleventh-grade boyfriend, who moved three states away a year ago and whom I haven’t spoken to since? Stanford as in Stanford, California, as in Stanford University? Andrew is at Stanford?
I’m not sure what flummoxes me more—that Andrew is at such a great (and expensive) school, or that for some reason, during what must be his first few days of college, he’s suddenly decided to get in touch with me. I guess we did date for almost a year, but when he moved the summer before senior year, I was honestly relieved. Senior year would be about applications and campus visits, and college would be about academics and new people and maybe even a new me…and Andrew just didn’t fit into any of that. The only thing even slightly significant about our relationship, at least from my perspective, was that I lost my virginity to him. And my main reaction to that whole ordeal was to be glad it happened in the backseat of Andrew’s car instead of mine.