The Loser's Guide to Life and Love by A. E. Cannon

Tommy with it.
    BAM! BAM! BAM!
    Tommy casually threw Ed to the ground—no big deal—but Ed bounced back up like a rubber ball.
    â€œThat didn’t hurt!” He yelled. Then he started swinging his backpack again.
    This happened over and over. Tommy pushed Ed down. Ed bounced back and started up with Tommy again.
    Me, I just stood there, hearing in my head whatTommy had said about me and my mother.
    Tommy walked away after a while. He probably got bored picking on third graders. After he left, Ed (whose nose was bleeding by then) turned to me and said, “We got him, Quark! He won’t dare mess with us again!”
    And he didn’t. I didn’t give Tommy Knaphus the chance. I stopped playing basketball at recess and when it came time in the fall to sign up for Junior Jazz basketball, I told Dad not to bother enrolling me.
    I have never forgotten Ed’s reaction that day, though. I’ve never forgotten the way he went after someone who was going after me.
    As I have noted before in the pages of this lab book, I, Quentin Andrews O’Rourke, believe that kindness is important.
    And I respect it when I see it.

E D’S T URN
    â€œIf you think you’re seeing more dragonflies than usual in the Salt Lake Valley this summer, you’re right—”
    I flip off the breaking dragonfly story on the ten p.m. news and walk out to the backyard so I won’t have to listen to Maggie and her girlfriends squealing upstairs. They’re having a sleepover, and right now they’re playing “Beauty Parlor,” which gives them an excuse to put “product” in one another’s hair.
    I settle into a patio chair and listen to Quark next door, banging shots off the board. Seriously. The guy’s amazing. He never misses.
    A hot, dry wind rustles through aspen leaves and makes me feel restless. Not bored restless. Just restless restless. Full of wanting. Wanting something. Anything. Everything.
    The specifics vary, depending on the breeze.
    Right now I’m thinking about something I usually try very hard NOT to think about. My so-called date with Stephanie Chandler. I can’t help myself sometimes. A wind like this one stirs things up and makes me remember stuff I’d rather forget.
    Okay. Let me state for the record that I FULLY understand Stephanie Chandler (don’t worry about remembering her name—she won’t be back for an encore) is WAY out of my league, so what happened was my own fault, in a way. I’m not a complete moron. I should have known better. I really should have. Stephanie sits on top of the high-school food chain, whereas I’m not even on it.
    Still, for some incredible reason, I actually thought I had a chance with Stephanie. Maybe because she was my lab partner in chemistry. Maybe because she laughed at my jokes. Maybe because she smiled at me in the halls when she noticed me.
    So I asked her out one day on impulse.
    Did you just hear that? I, Ed McIff the Impulsive, actually asked Stephanie Chandler, the Girl Who Makes Male Knees Weaken with Desire, to go out with me.
    It was at the end of class, right before the bell rang. I blurted out, “Stephaniedoyouwanttogotoamoviewith-metonight?” She paused. Then she smiled and said sure, why not. So I (walking on air) said I’d call her after school.
    Then Stephanie the Beautiful gathered up her books and left.
    Later that day I casually told a pal to find someone to go to a movie with, because hey, STEPHANIE CHANDLER AND I would be by to pick them up at seven p.m. sharp!
    Man, I really must have been on drugs that afternoon.
    I started to get the feeling something was wrong when I called Stephanie after school to confirm times. No one answered the phone. I kept calling her house during breaks from intensive sessions of showering and shaving and making my hair perfect, as well as getting online and buying tickets in advance.
    Still, no one answered. Ring, ring, go away. Call