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When I saw the self-addressed stamped envelope from the Florida Review, I could tell by the thinness of its contents that they’d accepted my story. The editor said it will appear in their summer issue and they’ll pay me $90. After six months and a dozen rejections, this story finally got accepted.

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At break, I chatted with Mark outside. We’ve gotten almost to the flirting stage. I told him about the People assignment and talked about my publicity campaigns, and he remembered once seeing me on the TV news. I could tell I was getting more attractive to him.

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What really made me feel good today was an acceptance of the story I wrote just two weeks ago. Telescope, an influential and intelligent little magazine, wants “My Basic Problem” for their “male feminism” issue! And they sent me a lovely acceptance letter with a contract specifying a $6-per-page payment.

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Last night Juliana came over and we watched American Gigolo, which she found unbearably romantic and which I saw as pretty and vapid. Although she gives the impression of being a Manhattan-sophisticated, no-nonsense lawyer, in some ways Juliana is like a naïve schoolgirl, with unrealistic expectations of life and other people.

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I’m continually amazed at the racist comments I hear from so-called enlightened people. Last night another all-white jury acquitted another white policeman of killing another black teenager, and there were disturbances in Miami. Can’t white people understand the frustrations at the constant injustices?

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The class seemed quiet until Benett and his friends started shrieking “Gay power!” and other chants I couldn’t make out. I went on with the punctuation lesson except for a comment about Tourette’s syndrome victims; Robbie caught my eye and smiled. Later, I told him I’d see him in the play he’s acting in.

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He kept telling me that he loved me, and I am positive he does. And God help me, I love the kid, too. We held each other for a long time in pitch darkness punctuated by violent, brief lightning.

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Do people actually think I’m a male prostitute? The article almost made me feel that I wasn’t reading about myself.