Your friends told you to, “chill out” and “give it a few weeks”, but such novices needn’t be listened to. You’re in high school now, and what you’re preparing for is no middle school dance at the local community center: this is the real deal. It doesn’t matter that you’re quieter than a kitten during the assemblies or that you and the rest of the tug -o-war team got literally dragged across the floor

—the dance is what Homecoming week is all about. You picked the girl in seventh grade, and laid out the game plan in eighth. Three days into the school year, you’re already bragging about how she couldn’t resist your charm. A few weeks later, you’re the one who has the honor of sweet-talking Ms. Pepka into cutting open that box and selling you the desirable first tickets. As you stand there, holding your tickets marked “001” and “002” aloft with a gleam in your eye, you mentally pat yourself on the back for successfully completing Operation: Logistical Master. Your date may hide from you in the bathroom all night, but it doesn’t matter as long people ooh and ahh when you say who you went with. Turbo-freshman-HC-kid, you’re one of us.