DJ and the Remix, Part I

It was the same old story, really. Boy meets girl, girl starts dating another guy.

I remember what I was wearing the day I met DJ. At least, the day I remember meeting DJ. We were in high school, and it was the nineties. I had made a yellow and blue plaid wrap skirt, reversible to solid blue. (It was as terrible as it sounds.) Yellow tee shirt, brown sandals, green backpack.

All the tables in the library were taken. The library was a popular place for study halls, because you could read magazines and talk instead of practicing trigonometry in silence. There was an empty seat at one table, and the three people already there were vaguely familiar. I was unbearably shy, but had decided to cover it by faking charming and outgoing.

I liked all three of them, just for buying my act. One was a drama kid, a clown. He made it easy to watch and laugh and fade into the scenery. One was a starter on the football team, wearing a peeling jersey for game day. One was a fresh-faced Mormon girl I'd seen in the math and science hall.

Forty seven minutes later we scattered to our next classes, and I didn't know much more about any of them. Later, there would be tension and jealousy and missed connections. But I didn't know that yet, because I'd just seen my first boyfriend - and he wasn't in the library.