There was a time when he would have done anything for her. She would watch some Hollywood tale about the boy whose persistence paid off in the end, and when it was over, she would look at him, and ask, "Why can't real boys be like that?" Now, when he thinks of those times, his smile is etched with pain. He remembers the day he filled her car up with her favorite flower, and she told him her dad was going to be furious, and drove off without even saying goodbye. He remembers the night he threw pebbles at her window until she opened it. She looked so cute in her flannel PJs, still half asleep. She asked if he knew what time it was, then shut the window, and told all her friends how weird he was the next day. He remembers thinking, "This is how it always starts out. She'll come around." Then they would go to the movies again. She would sigh and ask him one more time, "Where are the boys like that in real life?" He remembers the last time she spoke to him. It had been the night before graduation. They were lying on the hood of his car, looking at the sky, just like in the movies. He said sweet things, like he always did, and like always, she just looked away. He put his arm around her and pulled her close, and the words just started pouring out of him. He confessed what they both already knew, and she just stared at him as if he were speaking a different language. It wasn't just right, but he didn't know what to do next, so he leaned in to kiss her. That was when she pushed away, and said something about some boy she had been trying to get to notice her, and how this was so wrong. He said he understood, though he really didn't. Not knowing what else to do, he took her home, then stayed up all night in his room, watching those old movies, wondering what he did wrong.