We sat next to each other in first grade.
You used to share your crayons with me. I wonder why the teacher pushed our desks together into pairs like that. I thought you were kind of adorable, I think. I mean, I felt some sort of rush when you leaned towards my desk and offered me a crayola. Not the generic kind, of course.
You stayed back a grade though, so that was that.
But in middle school they changed the bus routes, and we ended up on the same bus. It was a small enough school that being on the same bus meant some quality time every morning and afternoon.
I thought of you as a pretty good buddy. You may have had a crush on me that whole time, but I was blissfully unaware.
You eventually invited me to a dance.
I love dancing, so obviously I obliged.
I can’t remember what I wore. Which is strange because teenage girls are supposed to remember these moments.
Somehow all of our friends were going in a limo that was full, so you got a limo that only you and I rode in. That was the beginning of the awkward. The dance was fun, but I know that I danced a little too close to a previous fling. He had gone with his girlfriend, but held me a little too close while Jewel played. We had that sweaty minty nervous closeness and it made me want him again so badly. Rumors abound that his girlfriend was pregnant though. I don’t remember how we got to the after party or home after that, because I think the limo was gone by then. I hope you didn’t spend too much money on that dance or think we were going to make out. I don’t think I have a single picture of it. You just can’t fake which sweaty teenage boy you want to stand too close too when fucking Jewel is on.
I’m sorry anyway, though. I’m sure I was more preoccupied with whether or not he was breaking up with his girlfriend at the after party than I was with whatever movies and popcorn and teenage happenings were right in front of me.
Fucking Jewel.
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