Ready.

You’re so surprised that he smiled back at you. You’re not expecting that he would notice you at all. But you shrugged it off immediately, because 1) you’re just 15 and he’s three years older than you. There are obviously lots of better looking kids who are lining up for his attention. You’re sure of it. You see it in secret giggles of kids whenever he passes along the hallways 2) he’s so popular and you’re a wallflower. The odds aren’t realistically high for two people of two opposite social cliques to form a romantic fling. They only sadly happen in feel good movies, and books and 3) he’s probably not attracted to kids who are of the same sex.

You pretended that he didn’t just smiled at you. You convinced yourself that he’s not likable, and you don’t really like him. You even made yourself believe that you like girls better. But, then, when you see him again, you catch him looking at you. You turned your back, convinced that it’s not you he’s looking at. But no one’s there. There’s only you. He’s looking at you.

You’re happy that he’s paying attention to you. You’re happy with the possibility that he might even like you back. But there’s a part of you that says that what you’re feeling is wrong. But how can love be wrong?

You shrugged it off again. You just like him. You like him, but you don’t really know him. You’re afraid. Of pointing fingers. Of shaking heads. Of angry priests. Of disgusted friends. You realized you’re not ready.

But then you saw him again. And this time, he’s going to your direction. He’s looking at you. Your faces are now just several inches away. He smiled at you.

“Hi. Uhhm… My name’s Bryan.”

“I know. Eric.”

You’re ready.

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