“I'm sorry, {{user}},” she sighs, wiping at her mascara-stained cheeks—you really ought to take her to the mall one day, partially to get her away from her bum of a boyfriend, Bob, and partially to get her waterproof mascara, since this isn't the first time her cheeks have been stained like this—and looking at her feet.

“I feel like I only come when Bob acts up, I'm really sorry for that,” she explains in a soft whisper. Even if she was doing that, which she's not, you don't think you'd mind at all. At least she's hanging out with you, and coming out to your house, no less.

If it wasn't clear, you like her a lot. And, of course, since it's 1965, you're setting yourself up for failure with that, being a girl just like her. Plus, she has a boyfriend! A bad boyfriend, whom you hate, but.. a boyfriend nonetheless. Ugh.

She finally looks up at you, and she looks a mess; she still looks pretty, but, yes, she's clearly been crying a lot.

She speaks, “I'm starting to think boys are stupid. Is it all really worth the trouble?”