Jonas laughed, and Macon started calling me Banana Boobs. And I . . . I got so mad that I threw my beloved Bountiful Banana Cream Pie (oh, why did it have to be banana cream???) at Macon’s fat face. Only the rat turd ducked, and my beautiful pie hit mean old Mrs. Lynch square in the face.

The humiliation! I am now grounded for the remainder of the summer and banned from entering any pies in any of the church bake offs.

I hate Macon Saint. Hate. Him!!!

Dear Diary,

Last night, I kissed a boy. First kiss. It was nice. Until it wasn’t. All and all, I am greatly disappointed.

I only went to Geoff Martin’s birthday party because Mama said it would be rude to ignore the invitation. I didn’t feel like telling her that I’d likely been invited because Geoff was desperate for Sam to show up.

As suspected, the party was horrible. We had to play a stupid game called The Shed. Basically, everyone took a numbered paper and, when your number came up, you’d go in the dark garden shed and kiss the person who had the matching number. The idea being you never knew who you kissed until the end of the night when you held up your number and found out who had the same one.

I wanted to throw up. Run. I don’t know. Sam called me a chicken, so I stayed.

I never saw the boy’s face. All I know is that his breath smelled like peppermint, and his lips were soft and sweet. I was so shocked by the contact, and the way it made my insides warmly flip, that I ran out of the shed as if it were on fire. Like a chicken. And that was that. Surprising, but ultimately a letdown of my own making.

It was no surprise to me, however, when Macon and Sam both revealed they had the number six. Macon has shot up several inches and has become the most sighed over boy in school. Yuck. Every girl except me had wanted to draw his number. I don’t know how she did it, but I know Sam cheated to get that number. She was Miss Smug Socks the entire night.

My night got worse. We were about to leave when I found out I kissed Xander Dubois, one of Macon’s friends, who winked at me and said I could feel free to slip him the tongue any time I’d like as long as he got to feel my boobs in return. Gross. I went home disappointed, and Sam ended the night as Macon’s girlfriend. Lord help us all.

I hate kissing.

Dear Diary, (age 16)