By the time I was fifteen I still hadn't kissed anybody. Not unless you count that little peck/dare thing that happened that time in grade two at lunch. The whole lunch room went ooooooh, but after that they all pretty much forgot.
But anyway, I liked this friend of mine and he liked me. Only we were in grade ten and idiots, so neither of us told the other and neither of us figured it out until later.
Okay, but what happened was the friend I liked and who liked me set me up with a friend of his. This friend of my friend seemed okay. He was good-looking in that he vaguely resembled a particular teen heartthrob only with more acne. But Friend of a Friend and I were nervous about hanging out with just us two together. We didn't get it then, the appeal of privacy. So I brought another friend along, on our date, and so did he.
So we went indoor go-karting because we all lived in the suburbs except the friend that I brought along who thought the whole thing was kinda boring, which it was. After go-karting we went to McDonald's to watch the boys eat.
After lunch-Friend of a Friend was upset I'd sat beside my friend and not him-we kind of just wandered around for a while.
Let's throw shit at other shit, Friend of a Friend's friend suggested.
Turning to my friend I said, I think we better go home.