My First Girlfriend - Part II

It was shortly past 12:30 when Donnie and I finally got out of class. I usually loved going to the classes at Youth Conference, but on this particular day they seemed to drag on forever. "How to do the Cha-Cha" didn't generate quite the same heart-stopping enthusiasm it usually did. I was preoccupied.

"What do you think I should wear?" I asked, not really hoping for a good answer, since I only had the clothes I'd crammed into my suitcase the morning before. The conference was only three days long, so I'd packed relatively light. A suit for dances and church, a couple of ties for variety, two or three t-shirts, a polo and a pair of jeans or two. That's it. Nothing extraordinary that would make a good second impression.

"I don't think you have time for that, man," Donnie declared, looking down at his Timex. "You have less than a half hour."

The pool was in a large, light brick building that also contained the requisite locker rooms, a couple of racquetball courts, a weight room and some offices. It was on the northwest corner of the campus in the Brock Sports and Recreation Center. I was a good 15-minute walk away near the Thomas Branch building on College Avenue. I'd never be able to put on my polo and make it up there in time. The homemade BYU t-shirt would have to do.

We turned and went north on Henry Street, past the Fountain Plaza on our left and the library on our right. The pool was only a few minutes away. Just up to Patrick Street and past the gym and we'd be there.

Involuntarily walking a little less briskly, I noticed my hands beginning to shake. Sweat beaded on my upper lip, which still had four or five years before it would be fertile enough ground for whiskers. I'd never felt this way before. It was almost intoxicating.

A slight zephyr blew past my face. Bending over, I picked up a marble-sized rock from the side of the road and tossed it nervously across the street. I looked over at Donnie. He had neat, closely cropped hair that hung down over his ears, dark brown eyes, and a slight paunch that belied his 16-year old frame. He really wasn't very athletic and at that moment I couldn't help thinking that he needed a shave.

"That's it over there," he said.

I looked up uneasily as a single bead of sweat made its meandering way down the side of my face. It itched, so I wiped it off.

"You think she's there already?" I asked, hesitating for just a split second before taking my next step.

Donnie shrugged his shoulders and then nodded almost knowingly. "I reckon," he replied. "You nervous?"

I'd never admit it to him, because I knew that, despite being two months older than me, for some odd reason, he looked up to me. "Nah," I said, doing my best to hide the fact that I shook like a leaf on a quaking aspen.

We walked closer to the building and I detected a hint of chlorine wafting through the summer breeze. "You sure you want to do this?" he asked.

Timorously I grabbed the handle to the front door and started to pull. "Yea, I'm sure," I replied, as I walked inside.