Months before I dumped Amanda, I found out
that she'd cheated on me, in a manner of speaking,
because in high school, when your girlfriend's a virgin,
cheating means kissing another kid at art camp, one summer.

Far as I know, that's what happens at those East Coast art camps,
your girlfriend ends up infatuated with the 14-year-old piano player
that plays Billy Joel during his camp recital, then, following that,
dodges your girlfriend's e-mails for the next few months,
while she's leading the dubious life of an online adulteress.

She didn't even tell me about him until after I'd caught her,
I was checking my LiveJournal friends list for something,
this was on her computer, and what we hadn't realized was
she was still logged into her LiveJournal account, so that,
when her posts appeared on my friends list, I saw them all,
even the ones that she'd marked private, and I read everything
before I even realized what I was reading, and, the worst part,
when I called her over and asked her to explain herself,
she yelled at me until I walked out the door.

So, yeah, it seems clear to me now that any 16-year-old
with an eleven digit password for their Hotmail account
is probably hiding something from you, and yet, to this day,
she says she still resents me for demanding I see her other posts,
because it was a beautiful memory she had, the way she kissed him
three times, alone in the hallway of a private high school in Vermont.