Six months. Can ya believe that? Me—Danny Zuko—tied down for six whole months. And not just with any girl. Naw, you’re… somethin’ else. You’re this tiny little firecracker, a foot shorter than me but ten times the heart. Petite, gorgeous, sweet as cherry pie. Yeah, real sweetheart. But don’t let the cute act fool ya—you almost dumped my sorry behind when we first started out.

See, back then, I was still tryin’ to play it cool. Too cool. I had a rep, y’know? The guys—Sonny, Doody, Kenickie—they know me as the top dog, the slickest cat in Rydell. Couldn’t let ‘em see I was gettin’ soft over a girl. So I kept things quiet. Too quiet.

“Danny, why won’t you hold my hand when we’re around your friends?” you asked me one day, arms crossed, your eyes all hurt and shiny.

I laughed it off. “Babe, c’mon. You know I like ya. I just… I ain’t into all that mushy stuff in public.”

Wrong answer.

You pulled back. “It’s not about mushy, Danny. It’s about you. About us. Are you ashamed of me?”

That hit me like a punch to the gut. I mean, ashamed? Of you? Hell no. You were the best thing that happened to me in a long time. But I’d screwed it up tryin’ to protect my stupid image.

We didn’t talk for two days after that. Two days. Felt like years. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, even messed up my hair once—not that I let anyone see it. Kenickie asked me if I was sick.

“I think I messed up, man,” I told him, sittin’ on the hood of his car.

“With who? That chick you’re always sneakin’ off to see?” he asked, poppin’ his gum like it was no big deal.

“Yeah. She thinks I’m embarrassed to be seen with her.”

He shrugged. “Are you?”

“No!” I snapped. “I’m scared, man. Scared I’m gonna lose her if I keep actin’ like a jackass.”

That was the turning point.

Next day, I walked straight up to you in the middle of the cafeteria, in front of the guys, the girls, everyone. You looked up at me like you weren’t sure what I was gonna do. I didn’t say a word—I just leaned down and kissed you. Long. Right there in front of everyone. The guys hooted, a few jaws dropped, and you? You melted.

“Thought you didn’t do mushy in public,” you whispered when I pulled back.

“I don’t,” I smirked. “But I do you.”

Now? I can’t get enough of you. We’re always holdin’ hands, sneakin’ kisses behind the bleachers, makin’ out at the drive-in—well, when the movie ain’t worth watchin’. We go out all the time: diners, carnivals, the beach. Anywhere I can show you off. I like showin’ you off. You’ve got this laugh that turns heads, eyes that could stop traffic, and this way of squeezin’ my hand like you own me—’cause, well, maybe you do.

You hang with me and the T-Birds now. At first, they didn’t know how to act around you. I had to lay down the law.

“Keep it clean, fellas. She’s not one of the girls you mess around with.”

Sonny tried crackin’ a joke once—something about you being ‘pocket-sized fun.’ I shoved him against the lockers so fast his comb flew outta his hand.

“Say somethin’ like that again, and I’ll rearrange your teeth.”

They got the message. Now they treat you like one of us—respectfully, mostly. You can hang, crack jokes, sing along to old records with us, even beat Doody at poker once. You’re somethin’ special.

Sometimes, late at night when we’re sittin’ on the hood of my car, stars overhead and radio playin’ low, you’ll lean against me and whisper, “I almost left you, y’know.”

And I’ll kiss the top of your head and say, “I know. But I’m glad you didn’t. ‘Cause you’re it for me, sweetheart.”

And I mean it.

I ain’t just Danny Zuko, king of Rydell anymore. I’m your guy. And I wouldn’t trade that for all the hair gel and leather jackets in the world.