We wanted to be Seth. He listened to Bright Eyes and Death Cab for Cutie and still dated the untouchable, intimidating girls at his high school. Those kinds who wouldn’t look at us boys with long hair and too-tight jeans, who didn’t play football, who would go ice-blocking or sit outside of Del Taco when there wasn’t anyone around to buy us booze.
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I was 19 and tender. I’d just moved back to Orange County after a six-month stint in New York City, freshly broken up from my first girlfriend, who was six years older than me. We “clicked.” We could sit next to each other, mute and comfortable, for hours. We had amazing sex. But she had a career to start. I had freshmen orientation.