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Let me guess: you’re here to find out what happened. You look at me, Sam Barber, and wonder how the heck a kid like him could ever mess up dating a girl as amazing as Hannah Benson… Do you like cooking? I love cooking. It’s, like, one of my favourite hobbies—which I know is weird for somebody my age. Some nights, when my mum works late, I like to cook for our family—without her even asking me—just to help out. Makes me feel very grown up. The best thing I cook is my Spaghetti Bolognese, hands down. I let it simmer for hours so it reduces to this beautiful, sweet, delicious, tomato-ey sauce. What’s this got to do with Hannah? I’m getting to that. Hannah and I went on three dates. The first date was more like a study session at the library. I’d had a crush on her (like I guess most of us have had a crush on her since forever) and I asked her if she wanted to see a movie. She smiled and said yes. That was date two. For date three, mum suggested I invite her over for dinner and cook. She says women love a man who can cook. I started on my greatest-ever pot of Spaghetti Bolognese: I minced the garlic, I browned the meat, bought really good tinned tomatoes from the shops—like, fancy ones from Italy. I even remembered to take the bay leaves out before they got bitter. Hannah arrived at six o’clock. Dinner was on the table. My mum was home early so she ate with us and my little sister. I served everybody, I watched Hannah take her first bite … and nothing. No reaction, no smile, no eyes closed going “mmmm”. Nothing! Mum said “This is a beautiful meal, Sam!” But Hannah didn’t take the hint. She just chomped away silently until her bowl was empty. The next day, at school, I asked her how she liked the meal. She said it was nice, even if I was acting strange. I asked her about the flavours, about how the pasta was cooked. She didn’t even try the garlic bread I’d made! “I’m just not that into food, Sam.” And in that moment … something shifted. Mum says this happens, sometimes. People get to know each other and discover that they’re different. We’re still friends. I mean, we’re friendly enough for her to tell me that she’s got a crush on Joe Soper! But she wasn’t the one for me. And that’s okay. I know the one for me is out there. Maybe in Italy?