My birthday party at Skatetown U.S.A. is rad until you get sent to the penalty box, pushing down ten-year olds in lieu of little brothers, our skate rink windowless, blaring Debbie Deb, Egyptian Lover, Petula Clark singing about downtown, things will be great when you are downtown, touching our skates with our pink fingers, my mental rentals rolling on bathroom tiles while you make out with Franco Ortiz behind Centipede, or Millepede, video games in full color, roller balls spin while your big pretzel gets cold in my hand, friendship bracelets losing knots, I told you this morning in science class we could put each other in a trance tonight the way we did at your house last Friday with Katie and Jeniffer, light as a feather, stiff as a board, Bloody Mary in bathroom mirrors, sundae bars, pink perfume, Swatch watches on all wrists, your sister and tampons, backrubs, Air Supply, Journey singing our soundtrack late at night, I wished for a boyfriend, blonde hair, new shoes, homemade bread, trees full of apples to eat, fling at brothers... I tried to warn you about Kevan Pritchard, my paisley breast pocket heaving, your conversation in Choir about our last party of eighth grade needing wine coolers, beer in cans, or bottles, before I ever gave a blowjob, my crush on Lance Kirk, North Carolina new kid in Izod and boat shoes more sacred than my love of you, falling asleep entwined in tents, singing Christian peace songs, breathing in afterschool snacks, hairspray, holding hands.