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student named Taylor Hardy joined our seventh grade class. He was unlike any boy I had ever met. This filthy rich, city boy had the intelligence and extended vocabulary of Hermione Granger. I often thought he had to be making up words because I often only understood half the terminology that escaped his lips.
     
    Even at his age, it was clear his future mail would read, Dr. Taylor Hardy. Due to his gifted predisposition the boy had such a self-righteous swagger, the idea that he had single-handedly cured cancer seemed plausible given the projected persona. His superiority spewed from his being like a broken faucet. I sensed he usually got what he wanted without question, regardless of what stood in his path. When the cocky son of bitch set his sights on Anna, I knew we were going to have a problem.
     
    Once seventh grade began, Anna and I started “going out.” The term vaguely meant that Anna and I wrote notes to each other in class, hung out at recess, and held hands briefly in the hallway. St. Mary’s was a strict Catholic junior high school, meaning public displays of affection were entirely out of the question. As exceptional students, as well as model Catholics, breaking the rules was not plausible.
     
    Although, we weren’t old enough to drive, not having a car put a strain on our relationship as well. Sunday morning after Mass was the lone time I saw Anna outside of school, but our conversations never lasted longer than a few minutes since Anna’s mother was battling cancer; a cancer that constantly kept her fatigued. She rarely left the house unless it was essential, and to Anna’s mother, death would be the only factor stopping the woman from attending Sunday services. Keeping an ever-watchful eye on her mother meant Anna’s free time was very limited.
     
    Like me, it took Taylor no time to discern that Anna was a queen co-mingling with the townsfolk. He quickly took up the task of trying to make her his own. The dude was as cool as the other side of the pillow. For a seventh grader he had game, probably more than I would have in a lifetime. Thankfully, Anna detected his slimy exterior, politely shutting the guy down before he could bring out the big guns.
     
    This did not stop his attempts. Taylor continued to woo Anna throughout the month of January by tossing an endless array of compliments her way, writing her cutesy notes, and even by spending his allowance to buy her little trinkets.
     
    Being in seventh grade, I was a little insecure about the whole deal. Hell, this dude was trying to move in on my woman. At this juncture in my life, I was more of a lover than a fighter, never the “Me Tarzan, you Jane” burly type of man, but more of the Frasier Crane sort.
     
    In this instance, stepping outside my comfort zone to defend the girl I cared about seemed an appropriate response. However, Anna reassured me that Taylor’s attempts were lost on her, and that no action was required.
     
    “ Taylor will never be able to have the rapport that we share Wayne,” Anna said to me one day at her locker. I remember the line because I later had to go home and ask my mom what rapport meant.
     
    I recall Anna also telling me that she would try to be blunt with Taylor about his advances. Anna’s previous strategy had been to sweetly decline any invitation, asking for a rain check while becoming more affectionate towards me. We would hold hands more often in the hallway and get in visible tickle fights. Anna even kissed me on the cheek in class once, although later she was forced to chat with Sister Marie Catherine about her “unruly” behavior. We hoped Taylor would be able to connect the dots for himself, but our pathetic strategy didn’t stop his relentless pursuit of Miss Dawes.
     
    After an afternoon of brainstorming, Anna and I devised a plan we believed to be foolproof. We would meet Taylor after school at his locker and sternly yet courteously inform him that his passes at Anna would no longer be