The second Petra appears at my side, I see it: something about the look in her eyes, that fiery, hellish blaze that emanates from her normally nice blue pupils. We’re in the living room of her best friend Jackie’s house, at the annual end of the school year blowout, and her presence would usually be a welcome respite from all the trashed idiots gyrating around me to the beat of some inane hip hop song. But now I feel myself cringing as I wait helplessly for a conversation that is sure to leave me hating myself.

“Pete,” she says, in a clear and resonant falsetto, “we need to talk.”

Oh Jesus Christ, I don’t want to talk, please oh please I’m sorry I hate these talks… “What about?” I ask, the very picture of innocence. This question, of course, is bullshit, because I know exactly what it’s about. Earlier in the night, I was talking to Tom about Petra, and said some things about my girlfriend that I didn’t mean. Tom’s my best friend, and he’s going out with Jackie, who is Petra’s best friend, and Petra (obviously) is going out with me. Now, this may seem a little confusing, but bear with me. Ok—even though Tom has known me since we were, let’s see, born, he still feels an inexplicable attachment to Jackie that is kind of frightening to be around. I don’t have the heart to tell him, but it looks more like owner and pet than boyfriend and girlfriend. He’s completely and utterly devoted, while she flirts with any guy she wants and uses Tom to get her soda and carry her backpack. So why does he answer to her beck and call? Does she have a great personality? No, in fact. She’s not a horrible person, by any means, but she is, to put it in the bluntest terms possible, a bitch. So, if not personality, then what? What’s that you say? She’s hot, and she loves sex? Ding ding ding ding ding!!! Johnny, show ‘im what he’s won!

But yeah, Tom’s pretty pathetic when he’s around her. Which makes me feel incredibly lucky to be with Petra instead. I feel like an idiot saying this, but, well, she’s a different sort of hot than Jackie. Jackie’s the more “whoops-looks-like-I-wore-a-black-thong-and-see-through-white-pants” hot, the kind that you’re looking for as you peruse the latest edition of Playboy but who has no real substance. To tell the truth, I wouldn’t be surprised if her parents get her breast implants for her graduation present (because, oh yeah, she’s rich too). But Petra… she has a more mysterious beauty, like some Amazonian queen peering back at you from the pages of National Geographic. It makes sense, given her interesting genes: her dad’s American, and her mom’s (get this) Syrian. They met when her father was on a photo assignment from Outside magazine in that area. And Petra herself is all around amazing, nice and funny and beautiful. And now I know I’ve hurt her, and I feel like excusing myself to go commit hara kiri in the bathroom.

So, coming back to the present, I say, “What about?”

She sighs, and sits down next to me on the couch as horny high schoolers make for the keg all around us. “Did you say to Tom that…” she pauses, one of those horrible, breathless pauses that must be like waiting to hit the sidewalk after slipping off the top of the Empire State Building, then- “…Did you say to Tom that you didn’t want to go out with me anymore?”

Now, at this moment, I have two options:

I tell her the truth, which is that yes, I did say that, and then proceed to explain that the only reason I did was because I’m confused about myself and then pray to God that my own idiocy won’t screw up my relationship with the first great girl I’ve ever been with. Or…

I feign incredulity, ask who told her this terrible lie, and begin heaping on the compliments immediately… then try to move on to making out, which requires even less talking (so therefore even less explanation).

It takes all of a millisecond for me to rule out option #2. This is for a number of reasons, the first of which being that my own consience prevents me from lying. Not that I wouldn’t ever lie, but if I did so with Petra I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself. Second, Petra herself wouldn’t believe me, because, while Jackie is bitchy, spoiled, slutty, she’s also honest. Brutally honest, actually. And since I’m pretty positive she’s the one who told Petra what I told Tom (who I’m at this moment thinking about throttling), Petra will believe her over any half-baked crap I can come up with.

So I nod, and as her eyes narrow with confusion I struggle for an explanation. But I can’t find it, and after about twenty seconds of unintelligible stuttering I come out with the ultimate lameass response: “I’m sorry.”

She looks at me, and I can tell she’s also having trouble coming up with something to say. “Okay, I just… I guess I don’t understand, maybe, but… why?”

Good question. Answer? “Because I’m an idiot. Listen, it has nothing to do with you, I’m serious, I’m just… I’ve never really been through this before, and I dunno, maybe I can’t handle it, I…”

Petra pulls her knees up to her chest. “So… do you mean it?”

NO PETE, YOU DON’T YOU MORON, OF COURSE YOU DON’T, DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT SAYING ANYTHING ELSE- “I don’t know.”

“Oh.” She looks a little beyond confused now, and I would maybe say she’s bordering on the pissed-off department. “You know, I don’t really… I don’t know what to say. I guess… Listen, Jackie asked me to go to Hawaii with her next week for vacation. Maybe we should take a break, and you can, I don’t know, figure out what you want.”

I’m lost. In a daze. I nod, trying to wrap my mind around it. She’s going to Hawaii. I’m staying in Chicago. Translation: I just ended the best relationship I’ve ever had. She stands up, puts her hand on my shoulder for a moment, and then she’s gone. I fall back on the pizza-stained couch, head in hands.

“Dude!” I look up. Some drunken dumbass from my Chemistry class is standing over me, a plastic cup brimming with Bud in his hand. He puts a hand on the wall to steady himself and points a shaky finger at me. “You just fucked yourself, man! She’s the hottest chick in school!”

He laughs, walks about two steps, and topples over. And here I am, wishing I had as much wisdom.