When I was a junior in high school, I was pretty much the same dorky person I am now. Except back then, boys kind of liked that. Or, at least one did.
It seemed as if things were moving so quickly when I finally realized that the boy I was totally crushing on didn’t return the favor anymore.
I brought cupcakes in for my friend’s birthday, cause I used to be sweet and people were nice enough not to grimace when the tasted my cooking. I looked up, and there he was, stealing my friend’s birthday cupcakes in psychology class.
“Hey, jerk. Stop. Who are you?”
He smiled his just-charming-enough smile. “I’m Daniel*.”
“Okay, well, paws of my friends cupcakes, because he’s awesome and these cupcakes are for his birthday.”
Of course, Christian is an angel, so he gives Daniel a cupcake anyway. I disapproved.
So I stole half the cupcake from his desk when he wasn’t watching.
Saturday was Valentine’s Day. And I was alone. And there was a party. And I needed a date.
I was at church with my mom. Of course, it was a Saturday, 7:30 at night, and there, standing in the pew across the aisle, was he. And it was, as I had just stated, Valentines day. And he was at church. With his mom.
So, of course, I swallow my pride.
Cupcake stealer or not, I needed to take a date to this party, especially since my crush was going to be there, and, as my teenage brain reasoned, showing him that I moved on would probably make him interested in me again.
So, after church, I told mom I’d be a moment, and I ran to corner him.
“You. Daniel.”
“Hey!”
He seemed overly excited to see me. Apparently, my disapproving glare from the other day hadn’t totally turned him off.
“Can you come to a party with me tonight?”
*Cue the raised eyebrows*
“As FRIENDS.”
As alluring as I must have been in my church clothes, he turned me down, saying he had another party to go to. I’m pretty sure that was a lie.
So I went to the party alone.
And *the crush* wasn’t even there. So, no harm done in rejecting me, Daniel. No harm. Yet.
So, the weekend slowly passes and I feel sorry for myself because another Valentine’s day had passed and I was alone and I guessed that at seventeen years old I should have been with my soul mate eating peeled grapes on the back of a dapple grey pony in the middle of a wheat field. Or something. (No, that is not my idea of romance. I don’t daydream about this is my spare time. Don’t be ridiculous.)
But Monday rolls around the corner, and with it comes Psychology class, and the obnoxious grin that said hah-I-rejected-you-I-am-such-a-pimp from Daniel.
“Sorry about the other day.”
I looked shocked, or I tried to, cause I was with Christian and Jacob and I wanted to seem cool because I used to care about that.
“Excuse me?”
“I’m sorry about not going with you to the party. Want to let me make it up to you and go to the movies or something?”
And, because I still had that bizarre thought that *the crush* would be jealous, and I knew that Jacob would text him and tell him as soon as the word left my lips, I said yes.
That Friday, I am standing by the door, waiting for him to come and pick me up.
Mom and Dad are seated awkwardly on the sofa. Nothing escapes them, and they wanted to see this boy who was taking me out.
He rings the doorbell, I do short introductions, and then I run out the door. Mom and Dad retreat, and so I am in the car, backing out of the driveway, when…
**SMASH**
Daniel and I looked at each other. I get out of the car.
And in Daniels bumper is the side of my car. Nicely dented. Paint chipped.
I look at Daniel. He’s looking at his car like he’s looking at an man-eating-squid. Then he looks at me.
“Well then, shall we go?”
Long story short, the first date left much to be desired. Mom and Dad weren’t impressed, his belonging-to-our-church points were diminished, and my brother was laughing at me cause my “boyfriend” had wrecked the car on our first date.
And so, we broke up. Once we got our check to repair the car, that is.
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