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"Pee Shy"
I waited till the boys' room was empty, then stood at one of the urinals. It always took me a long time, even when I was alone. Before I could do it, someone came in and stood next to me. Anxiously, I glanced over. It was Steve, the good-looking son of an actor on a popular detective series. He was one grade ahead of me. Everyone said he was stuck-up, but I'd always had a crush on him. As we stood beside each other, my legs began to shake. I tried to look straight at the wall in front of me. Without realizing it, however, I pressed my whole body against the urinal. "Don't worry," Steve said disdainfully. "I'm not looking at you." He pulled the handle above his urinal, zipped up his pants. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched him wash his hands and check his hair in the mirror. Then he left.
I can't remember anything after that. How long did I stand there? Did I rush to my locker? Was I late for a period I dreaded—woodshop, drafting, gym? How did I hide my shame, convinced as I was— as I'm sure I was—that everyone would know my hideous secret before I even reached my next class?
—David Trinidad
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