On one shoulder the angel is telling you to go for the guy who calls when he says he will, the one who picks you up, takes you to a movie and pays for dinner without asking for anything in return. You know your mother would love him and your father would approve, but there's something so primitively erotic about the boy who whizzes by in his Jeep, the kind with the doors removed and the huge earth-treading tires. He smokes a pack a day, maybe two if he's mad; he parties when he wants, eats only when absolutely necessary, and sleeps when there is nothing better to do. He's mean and you like it because when he looks at you the light catches his eye in just such a way that you think of him right before you fall asleep at night and imagine his lips running down your neck when you should be praying in church. He eyes every girl who walks past but you believe him when he says you are beautiful and that he's never met anyone else like you. Your friends think you're crazy. They say you can do so much better but somehow you don't feel worthy enough for him. The angel reminds you of the nice boy who's interested in you. He's got a decent car, a good job and wants to work in a cubicle when he gets older; Bad Boy is planning his road trip to California. He never wears a shirt. His abs are defined but not prominent, his arms are strong and comforting but not massive. After leaving his bedroom in the dead of night you get home and realize his cologne had made its way onto your shirt and you promise not to wash it for a week. When his arms were around you it felt as thought nothing could ever hurt you, not even the end of the world, but you know the day will come when he tires with you and moves onto someone whose jeans are a size smaller and hair a little blonder. If only you could make him love you, if only he could think about you the way you dream about him. It'll never happen. The Bad Boy is always a step ahead of you but acts like he's five feet behind. He's played this game a thousand times before but you've convinced yourself that you are too smart to be fooled. You won't cry at the end of this and then pretend you weren't by blaming it on allergies. You won't look at his number in your cell phone and wonder if it's a good time to call him but then decide against it because you don't want to be clingy and weird. You won't care when he's driving around with some other girl in his Jeep, the one where the doors are all taken off. You'll find that nice guy in time and you'll tell him all about the other bastard who treated you like crap. But you loved it, you loved every beer stained and cigarette filled moment of it. The Bad Boy tells you he's going into the army. He won't be back for a year. It's okay, you think. You won't care. You'll go back to college and he'll go overseas and you won't give him a second thought because there will be so many other guys of equivalent worth to occupy your time. The nice guy will win your heart and you'll realize how stupid you were for letting someone take advantage of you like the Bad Boy did. You'll post pictures of your new boyfriend on your website in the hopes that Bad Boy will see them and regret the great girl he let slip through his fingers. He'll cross your mind every now and then and if you're lucky, you will cross his.