I went through catalog number one, finding tons of good stuff. I hummed as I highlighted, imagining happy smiles on teenage faces when they picked up the newest biography of Brad Pitt. When I had what felt like an obscenely long list of goodies, I went over to the computer to compile my list. My treasure trove of books added up...to a mere $180.

Aghast, I went and grabbed a second catalog. Being less choosy about the books I selected, I ransacked the pages, circling adult books and books for slower teen readers. Surely this would be enough! My new total: $320. Better, but still over a hundred dollars to go. I'll finish up after my dinner break.

How on earth am I going to do this every month? What if there's a dry spell for young adult authors? This money doesn't get held over until the next year; what I don't spend, I lose - the teens lose. Last month, when I had less money because I only began ordering near the end, I bought series which the library already owned, but were in poor condition. How long can I keep "padding" my shopping list in that manner?

It's irony, come to bite me in the butt. It's getting me back for all those times I stood in bookstores, wishing I was a millionaire who could buy every book in the place.

I received an email today from an unfamiliar name. I had to stare at it for a moment, wondering who in the world was contacting me, saying, "It's been a long time since we talked last." Long time? Who are you? I ran through my mental Rolodex, coming up with a complete blank, until I came to...

Oh, my God. Matt.

Let me start by saying that I was a very, very shy girl in grade school, and by the time I got to high school, I had built myself a shell from which it seemed impossible to hatch. All of the people around me knew me for a "good girl," and all of the guys only saw an introverted, socially inept bookworm when the looked at me. I became sick of myself, until one night, when a girlfriend of similar nature and I hatched a plan. We crashed her cousin's Homecoming Dance, where we were known by not a soul. We played "bad girls" for the night, dancing and flirting with strangers. My friend left the dance with a light heart; I left the dance with a new boyfriend - my very first.

Matt turned out to be the adopted son of my favorite junior high school teacher, a cooking teacher. He was my polar opposite in every way, other than our shared red hair color. He was a "troubled teen" to my saintly bent; he was the class clown to my bookworm. He was an athlete, and I was a band geek. Everyone saw that this was not a love match except for us. We were too wrapped up in the chemistry to see much of anything.

I suppose now, with the clarity of hindsight, that I was more in love with the novelty of the situation and with the dropping jaws we created than with Matt himself. I don't remember sharing many conversations, though I do remember his laughter at my complete ignorance of all things sports. I recall many evenings over at his house, talking with his mother (glorious woman!) over the delectable gourmet meals she would effortlessly create for us. And I remember sexual overtures from him which did nothing more than confuse me.

I have to admit to being almost completely ignorant of sexual matters until very late in my life. Oh, I knew the facts, but it's rather difficult to know much more than that when you are the very image of "sweet sixteen and never been kissed." Nobody had ever made a move on me before, so I didn't quite know how to respond to Matt. I didn't discourage him, but I certainly didn't encourage anything more than kissing. How could I, when I barely knew a thing?

In the end, it was a moot point, because I finally saw the situation for what it was. I was at an Odyssey of the Mind competition with my team, getting ready to go into the room for the "spontaneous problem," in which we would be given a brief amount of time in which to creatively solve a puzzle. Matt and a few of his friends had shown up to heckle. In a blinding moment of clarity, I saw our worlds as distinctly separate spheres that could never, ever fit together. And that is why, only two minutes before my team went into the field of competition, and with the girls hissing at me to get back quickly to prepare, I broke up with Matt.

He never saw what hit him. It felt like crushing a rabbit beneath the tires of a school bus; he called me repeatedly, in tears, asking me to take him back, to not just throw away the six months we had been together. I couldn't just tell him that I felt as if I already had. We had conversations such as this one:

"But, Carrie, why?"
"Matt, do you know what the word 'compatible' means?"
"Um...no."
"Well, that's kind of why, right there."

And I never much thought about him again, though I did occasionally miss his mother.

Apparently, from his email, he's in the army now. He's married with two daughters. I'm not surprised; he always wanted to go into the military, and he's not the kind of guy who would have spent a terribly long time searching for his future mate. What does surprise me is that he's in Germany, married to a local girl. Frankly, I never would have suspected him of having the patience to learn a foreign language.

The polite thing to do would be to write back to him. I think I will; after all, I harbor no ill will toward him. He wasn't a bad guy - just not the guy for me. I hope he's the perfect guy for his wife, whoever she is. I'm rather glad, for both her sake and mine, that I never went any farther with him than I did. It makes me smile to think of her unblemished happiness.