Myron was the sort of kid who preferred reading to sports. But he wanted to be liked and respected, and he wanted a pretty girlfriend. Girlfriends kind of scared him, but he couldn't help wondering. Everybody else seemed to want it so bad, there must be some good to relationships.
"You wanna try the booth?" The mousy girl asked him. "Lunch's almost over now." She looked around the emptying food court. Myron had waited until most of the crowds went away.
"Yeah," Myron nodded. The mousy girl looked him up and down, nudging her glasses farther up on her nose.
"I think we can fit you in, before we have to close today," she said, sucking her lips. "It's just a kissing booth, though, nothing else. If you were, you know, hoping about that."
"Well... kissing's nice, isn't it? Even just kissing, um..."
"Just so you understand what you're paying for," The mousy girl said.
"Okay." Myron handed her a quarter. "Here."
"Okay." The mousy girl deposited the quarter in a metal lockbox next to the chair. "Name?"
"Oh, uh, Myron Solaro." He gulped. Even though the mousy girl had braces, and glasses, and untidy brown hair, and a slightly bulging gut, Myron was the sort of boy who feared and desired that, spontaneously, any random girl who wasn't completely hideous might take a liking to him and try to kiss him or otherwise show affection. He'd imagine the first date, the second, the first year together, marriage, kids, the whole timeline in moments. He did this with every girl he liked, and he took a liking to almost every girl he set eyes on. Thus, he felt an incredible loss whenever they turned him down, ignored him, belittled him. Each time he felt he'd lost a lifetime together, a wife, a companion. He felt himself falling into his usual pattern, and he wanted a way to distract himself, so he talked.
"So, uh, what's your name?" He asked. She looked up from her scribbling.