One winter evening in 9th grade, Shirley Hamiel and I attended a Varsity Basketball game. We settled ourselves on the lowest seat on the bleachers to watch the game close up. As the game progressed, we ogled the boys and daydreamed about how sublime it would be to get to know some of the older basketball players who took no thought for us younger girls. During the game, the senior whom we decided was cutest came speeding toward us, chasing a basketball which was about to go out of bounds. As he came crashing into Shirley's lap, he bat the ball back into the court for continued play by the other athletes. Without an apology, he extricated himself, and ran off to rejoin the game as we sat, dreamy-eyed, in our infatuated reverie.