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with a prickly mustache and a face like Kiefer Sutherland’s. He wore a fitted, lavender Izod with the collar flipped up, Guess jeans that were entirely too tight, and docksiders.
    “Hey,” he said when I opened the door for him. “Kevin.” He put out his hand and I shook it.
    “Hey,” I replied.
    “Hello, Debbie,” he said to my mom, who was standing in the doorway that led from the kitchen to the foyer. She lifted her hand to wave but didn’t say a word. She looked stunned. I didn’t find out until after the date that she had never met Kevin, and that she’d built up a mental image of what she thought he’d look like—a quiet artist type, not some “gigolo wannabe,” as she called him.

    He took me to a Chinese restaurant in the mall and ordered a bottle of wine. He was so confident that the waiter didn’t even hesitate. When Kevin saw the look of surprise on my face, he just winked and said, “It’s cool.”
    Kevin was three years older than I was. When we met, he was about to turn twenty-one and I was about to turn eighteen. He was so sophisticated and mature, so slick. I was sure a guy like that would never be interested in the drama-club nerd I saw myself as back then. I was sure he would see in an instant that he was way too cool for me. I was in awe.
    When the waiter returned to pour our wine and take our order, Kevin ordered for us. No one had ever ordered for me before, and I felt so grown-up. His gesture seemed romantic and adult—and cocky, which I liked. The only boys I’d gone out with had been fellow debate-team members who generally relied on me to call the shots. I felt like I’d won the teenage lottery.
    “Is your real name Jennifer?” he asked after the waiter walked away.
    “Uh-huh. Why?”
    “Well, Jenny’s such a little girl’s name, and you are no little girl.” He reached across the table and took my hand. “Is it okay if I call you Jennifer?”
    “Uh-huh,” I managed. I felt like I was on Candid Camera, as if any minute my dad was going to jump out from behind the fake palm, laughing as the camera crew revealed itself.

    Back then, I was extremely insecure about how I looked and how guys saw me; I was always aware of not being on par with my classmates, many of whom looked like they could have given Brooke Shields a run for her money. At that moment, though, sitting across from Kevin, I finally saw a glimmer of hope. Here was this guy, this hunk, flirting with me, showing off for me. I felt my own power as I sat across from him that night, the power of my own sexuality and allure. And I liked it—a lot. I have heard people say that we’re attracted to the people who reflect the vision of ourselves we most want to see, and I loved the sexy girl Kevin’s baby blues were mirroring back to me that night.
    The minute the bill came, he swiped it off the table. I reached for my purse.
    “I got it, babe.” No one had ever called me “babe” before, and again, I felt as if I were trapped in some sort of surreal world, as if this guy had swooped in out of nowhere to rescue me from teenage obscurity. I was overwhelmed by the feelings he awakened in me.
    When he dropped me off at home, he opened my car door and walked me to my front door. “Call you tomorrow?” he asked. In that moment, I was convinced that it wouldn’t be long before we slept together. He started calling me his girlfriend about a week later. In May, he took me to my senior prom and was every bit the perfect date. He made me feel pretty and smart and sexy and talented. He helped me to shed the dork cloak that I had been hiding under for

    so long. I wasn’t even out of high school, so it wasn’t as if I was thinking about getting married, per se, but he made me believe I was a catch, and I had, perhaps for the first time, that feeling that someday, someone would undoubtedly want to marry me.
    My parents were ambivalent about my dating Kevin. But I was happy, and I wasn’t drinking or using drugs or