Bonnie’s allure was heightened by her reputation as one of the lab school’s wild girls. Her father was the dean of men at the University. She dated high school boys and was rumored to have experimented with drugs. The drugs in question turned out to be Darvon, supposedly pilfered from one of the girls’ home medicine cabinets. It was never clear if any of the girls actually took the pills – or even had them. But those little capsules became the focal point of a school wide scandal, and perhaps a witch hunt. Somehow the word got out that the girls were popping pills, and for the next week the junior academy faculty turned into the Darvon Gestapo. Lockers were searched. Bonnie and her pals were put on probation.
I would now like to recount some charming memories of my faltering pursuit of Bonnie, or even of chance encounters in the hall or playground. I would like to, but I can’t, because there are none. For nearly two years, I worshipped Bonnie from afar. She was the exotic and alluring star of all my nocturnal sex fantasies, but I don’t remember ever even speaking to her. This is all the stranger because we shared the same 8th grade homeroom together.
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