hopeless.

I've learned there are two types of girls in this world. The hot ones that will chase after your dick and eventually get old and gross, and then the generally cool ones. Leah was one of those generally cool ones, so that's why I went to her stupid party.

Christine was a Type 1 girl. So when she broke up with me, I didn't feel especially bad or care too much. She was annoying, though, which is why I left the room when she came in and decided it was about time for a smoke.

"...and all those dumb cliches, right?" Andrew was just finishing saying as I stepped onto the porch. Andrew is one of those guys I'd always assumed was a douchebag because he wears polos and khakis, but it turned out he was actually pretty cool. He was standing in front of a girl I might have seen before, but never paid attention to. He nodded once he saw me. "Sup, man?"

"Yeah, hey," I sat next to the girl. I didn't care whether she minded or not; I kinda do what I want. "Can I borrow your lighter?" That wasn't an attempt to pick her up- I actually forgot my lighter at home. But she rolled her eyes and passed me a hot pink one. "Thanks."

"Kennedy, you're always the charmer," Andrew blew his own ring of smoke. "Kennedy, this is Maggie. Maggie, Kennedy."

"Kennedy Greene. But everyone calls me Kenny G," I stuck out my hand for a shake. We shook hands, despite Andrew's muttered "dude, no one calls you that."

"I'm Maggie," once you got over her plainness, she was kinda cute.

"My aunt's name is Margaret. We call her Madge."

"If you call me Madge, I'll probably kill you."

"Ooh. Someone's hostile, huh Madge?" I wasn't killed, but did receive a fist to my arm. "Shit, Madge. You sure can throw a punch."

"That means a lot coming from Kenny G."

Andrew gave us a look then, and I think he knew. I wish he'd told me then. I wish he'd told me that I'd be better off without her, that even those Type 2-generally cool can break your heart too. But he didn't, so now it's my turn to warn you. To warn you that when you see a girl named Margaret-not-Madge and she hands you a hot pink lighter and you think maybe she can be a weekend fling, walk away. That loving her makes you a hopeless bastard. Don't try to find the prettiness beneath a basic face because once you do it'll be over before you know it and you'll be left feeling like you're drowning in a cold lake and no one can pull you out.

But back then I didn't care. I flung an arm around her shoulder and she tossed the butt of her cigarette into the bushes. "You come here often, then, Madge?"