When No means No.

You thought she was kidding – you thought she thought you were funny – you thought she thought you were cute.

Check “None of the above”. You finally got it.

In front of practically the entire school – Boysenberry Pie. The kind that stains everything for years.

You tried to laugh. Your classmates were horrified. Your face was sticking together.

You could have sworn you were an item. No – nobody asked her.

You’re bad at signals – you thought her saying no was being coy and hard to get. Nobody said no to you before. Well, nobody said yes to you either – but she really meant it.

You may never go back to school again – everybody laughed – some started to applaud. She took a bow.

You watched your self-esteem fall down flights of stairs. You would have liked a hole to crawl into.

Your own fault – gotta stop listening to your jock friends – they’re nothing but trouble – can’t even hold their liquor. And you believe them when they give you advice.

You really liked her too – you blew it. Can’t go back and be honest now – gotta figure out how to get rid of the purple stains.

Everybody will remember the incident – and no girl in her right mind would want to go out with you after that. You’re doomed.

You’re never going to get laid at this point – you’re never even going to get a really poor kiss – not even a handshake. You’ll have to wait till college for that – if you ever make it. 10th grade, it will be an eternity before you graduate. You’ll be sterile by then – you won’t even know how to use it.

You just had to cop a feel, didn’t you? Had to do an accidentally/on-purpose do the full-court – boob grab. It wasn’t even a good one.

Sat in the Boys Vice Principals office – getting a lecture and feeling your face harden and your skin turn purple.

Spent an hour in the Boys Bathroom trying to wash the pie off your face. It was going to take a year to appear normal again. Big blotches – sticky mess – hair won’t budge.

You have to take the bus home – you have to listen to laughter – you have to watch the bus driver shake his head.

You land a seat next to a weary grandmother who hands you a packet of Wash n’ Dry. She shoots you a grimace that speaks volumes. She probably thinks you’re an idiot. That’s something you two can agree on.

Somebody in the seat in front of you has KROQ playing on their Walkman – you stare off into space.

Your face eventually cleans up – it’s your hair that now makes you look like a fugitive from a Billy Idol concert.

You wonder if it would make any difference if you started snarling your upper lip.

One thing at a time.

In the meantime, here’s 45 minutes worth of Dusty Street from KROQ on January 26, 1987.