When I was thirteen, I was sitting on the steps of a local pizzeria, reading a book in the sunshine. A cute, lanky dark-eyed boy and his friend rode their bikes up to the pizzeria and dropped them on the sidewalk. After ordering, they came back out and stood nearby, throwing the occasional glance in my direction. Finally, the cute boy introduced himself and asked my name. I put my book down and we started chatting.
The two of us had a lively conversation and, when they called my name, I went in and got the pizza. He said, "I'd like to talk to you some more."
"Yeah, I'd like that," I said, balancing the hot pizza box on my hip so I could carry it with my book on top. "You can call me."
"I will," he promised. We exchanged numbers. Then, right before I could walk away grinning like a fool, his eyes caught the book I'd laid aside to talk with him. "What are you reading?" he asked.
I don't remember what the book was, although I do remember that it was a weighty adult tome. I told him the title, and he asked, "For school?"
"No, just for something to read," I said.
"Oh." He gave me another cute grin and a little wave and walked back to his friend.
When I walked away, I overheard him say to his friend, "Nah. Too smart for me." I knew he wasn't going to call.
For some reason, getting yet another rejection letter for a short story today reminded me of being a skinny, freckled, red-headed thirteen year old girl carrying a stupid pizza home on a hot summer day. :p