The Wonder Years

October 17, 1968.

Testing.

Testing... 1, 2, 3...

I had assumed my standard homeroom position,

drooling in the general direction of Lisa berlini.

But today, things were different between Lisa and me.

Rfk junior high's revised dress code

has been posted outside my office.

Although it's fairly self-explanatory...

You see, the night before,

we'd spent very close to four complete minutes

talking to each other on the telephone.

Our relationship was entering

the fast Lane of the seventh-grade social scene,

and it was up to me to keep the ball rolling.

Section two, article one... the mini-skirt clause.

Any skirt cut higher than 2 inches above the knees

will call for immediate disciplinary action.

Section two, article two.

Is there a problem, Mr. Arnold?

Uh, no, ma'am.

All right, now on to other, more important matters.

Yeah, I was looking pretty good now.

All I had to do was plot my next move.

Rfk's first fall dance

will take place this Friday night.

So, for music and fun, dancing and romancing,

come one, come all, and have a ball.

That is all.

You're gonna ask Lisa berlini, aren't you?

I don't know. Maybe.

Then who am I supposed to go with?

I don't know.

Hey, why don't you ask Carla Healy?

No way.

No way.

Why not? I hear she likes you.

Just stop talking about her, okay?

The words "Carla" and "Healy"

had the same effect on Paul as seafood and grass pollen...

Severe membrane inflammation.

What's wrong with him?

I said the "c" word.

"Carla Healy"?

Are you gonna ask her to the dance or something?

No way. I'm not.

You mean you're asking Carla Healy?

No, he's asking Lisa berlini.

Lisa berlini, huh?

Yeah.

I don't know. I might not.

No, you should. She's nice.

She's okay.

Well, I guess I'll see you guys later.

What?!

They're called dead whales, people.

My question to you is, why?

I felt sort of weird talking to winnie about Lisa.

But I forgot all that by social studies.

The lights were dimmed for a slide show on pollution,

and I was within striking distance

of the best-smelling head of hair in the seventh grade.

Where have all the flowers gone?

How many roads must a man walk down?

The time was right

for the most intimate form of communication

known to 12-year-old man...

Inter-classroom note-writing.

In a note, you could say anything you wanted to.

Lines I would have choked on

under the glare of fluorescent lights

were coming out like poetry with the venetian blinds drawn.

The signs were there. She wanted me.

It was time to throw caution to the wind.

The problem is excess.

We keep pushing, pushing,

and it always ends up by us going one step too far.

Dear god, he was right. What was I thinking?

I mean, one lousy phone call, a couple of notes,

and, suddenly, I'm asking her to the dance?

It was all happening too quickly.

I wanted that note back.

Then again... why stop when you're on a roll?

Lights, please.

It was all so perfect.

With one flick of the wrist,

I'd opened up an entirely new and exciting chapter

in my life as an adolescent.

Lisa berlini was mine

to have and to hold, for better or for worse,

till death do us part.

Hi, Lisa. You want to go to the dance with me on Friday?

Okay!

Great. I'll see you.

I had it in writing.

Maybe there was some legal action I could take.

Um, Lisa?

Oh, Kevin.

Yeah.

Um, did you just say...

You'd go to the dance with Brad?

I'd seen that look before...

In 1964 when my mother put our cocker spaniel to sleep.

Well... yeah.

But...

You just said you'd go with me.

That was before Brad asked me.

So?

So, I didn't know he was gonna ask me

when I said "yes" to you.

So?

Well... I mean...

You're not gonna... be weird about this or anything, are you?

I mean, I really like you, Kevin...

As a...

And that's when she said it...

The word I was to hear from beautiful girls

like Lisa berlini time and time again.

The word that struck a chord so violent in me

that I wanted to strangle guys like Brad gaines

with my bare hands.

Friend.

Aagh!

Tough break with this Lisa berlini thing, huh?

At least Paul was happy to hear of my rejection.

It meant he wouldn't have to ask.

Carla Healy to be his date.

Aren't you gonna eat your hamburger?

I'm not hungry.

I wouldn't eat it, either.

You see how they make the hamburgers?

Oh, they put all this gross stuff in it.

It tastes all right to me.

I heard Eddie obin bit into a hamburger

and a bug flew out from under the bun.

No way.

That's what he said.

I don't believe it.

I do. It's documented fact.

- - All right, that did it.

There was only so much one guy could take.

First of all, there's no way

a bug can breathe under a hamburger bun.

And it probably would have suffocated

before Eddie even bit into it.

That's right.

And besides that, a bug is too quick

to get caught in a hamburger to begin with.

Let's say it did get caught under the bun

but didn't suffocate.

It probably would have flown away

when Eddie put the ketchup on! - When Eddie put the ketchup on!

Winnie and I always saw eye-to-eye on stuff like that.

It was like we were born under the same sign or something.

Suit yourselves.

I'm getting an ice-cream sandwich.

Oh, is that the new lunch menu?

Yeah.

Pizza boats, chilled pears, and carrot sticks on Wednesday.

Maybe it was the buzz of the cafeteria,

maybe it was the sting from Lisa berlini,

but sitting there across from winnie

I felt a hunger burning within me.

Sloppy Joes, tater tots, and an orange wedge on Thursday.

I love sloppy Joes!

Me too.

Her message seemed clear enough.

Behind the charade of the lunch-menu recital

burned the untapped rage of our secret passion.

On Friday, it's macaroni and cheese,

peanut-butter cookies, and fruit cocktail.

Winnie, will you go to the dance with me?

Dance?

I can't.

I'm already going with kirk mccray.

God.

Winnie Cooper and an eighth-grader.