Our friendship started organically (I thought). We met in my safe space, the high school library. Maybe that is why I trusted him too soon. Also, at age fourteen and darn flattered that an upperclassman saw awkward me and wanted to talk, I had no headspace for considering his motives.
Let’s call him Steve (because I don’t recall his name). Steve was often in a spotlight of sorts. He walked around with a throng of friends in tow. He wore expensive, preppy clothes and designer eyeglasses. He had the air of someone who buys their eyeglasses in France or Italy while on family trips abroad.
On the day of our first chat, I was sitting at my usual small town high school library table, surrounded by books and my notebook. Standing above me, but not in a creepy way, Steve asked me if I ever ate lunch, noting my seat in the library nearly every day.
He noticed me in here daily?
I told him that I didn’t get hungry. I knew it was a lie, and it seemed he knew that too. He offered to buy me lunch and I declined. So he waved off his friends, sat across the table from me, and asked me about horses.
I was talking to a cute boy about horses!
Steve seemed interested in my thoughts about the book in my hands (history of racehorses). Does he like me? Before I could even process the (outlandish) possibility, he stood and wished me luck on the book report. His friends stood also, and I watched his perfect, icy-blonde hair and vibe of all-over refinement leave the library through the glass door. I waited for him to turn and look back. He did not.
Making friends had been difficult for me when I entered high school. I was new, while most of my classmates had known each other in middle school (or longer) before entering as freshman. I envied their ease.
The following week, Steve commented on my hair (in braids) as he leaned across the library table and placed a perfect apple on my notebook. He brought me a gift!
I can see him in my mind as I look back on the story. Imagine a teenage cross between Anderson Cooper, Timothy Olyphant, and Jon Bon Jovi. Teenage dream, right?
“For celebrating your good grade on the book report,” Steve said.
I thanked him and raised an eyebrow. How did he know about my grade?
“Just a hunch.” His slow grin oozed effortless confidence. “So?”
“I got an A,” I offered.
He tapped the apple, said something kind and memorable, and left.
I say that his comment was memorable, and it WAS at the time. I replayed it in my head, unpacked it with my best friend, and considered what I would say to him the next time we talked about horses or apples or anything at all.
Over the weeks of occasional eye contact in the halls, table chats, and library apples, I noticed the librarian’s body language changed when Steve entered the library.
To offset her concerns (assuming they were related to fruit delivery), I mentioned that I would never eat the apple inside the library. She nodded in recognition of my appropriate-to-date library behavior and said she trusted my conduct to remain respectful. (I think her senses told her that he was not right for me. I wasn’t there yet.)
The day he breezed in with a stapled pack of papers — more cavalier than usual and a little rushed — he sat and shared a few quick sentences that changed everything:
An important paper was due soon (explains the stapled assignment packet);
He’s not a natural writer (and then he gestured to me in a way that implied I’m a natural writer and he is simply preppy and beautiful); and
He needs my help so much that he is offering me $200 in cash to write his paper for him. Payment on delivery - even before the grade - although he’d like the grade to be around a C to avoid suspicion.
WHAT?
(That’s nearly $1,000 in 2026 money. Meaning more than I had ever seen.)
My initial reactions:
The $200 seemed like enough to put a dent in the stack of late payment notices on the kitchen table at home;
This is cheating and I don’t cheat; and
We’ll get caught.
His initial responses:
Silence. (I did not say the first thought out loud);
It’s not cheating. I am getting paid for my work. He will be the person cheating; and
We won’t get caught … who would think a freshman would be writing a paper for an upperclassman.
I said no. He asked me to think about it.
Given the first bullet and knowing how rough money things were for my parents, I said I’d think about it and tell him the next day.
[To be continued.]
On my mind
This memory has been on my mind and I’ve wondered … is it because I now sit on the board of the local library? Because I’m grateful for my natural writing abilities? Because of the attention given to AI’s role in writing on behalf of people?
Likely all of the above and more.
Part 2 of 2 of this story will be published next week. In the meantime, I wonder … if you were Lori at age 14 in this story, what would you do?