[RiddleRose]: 298.Contest Entries.love heartbreak

I used to dream of you. I would imagine you holding my hand, telling me you loved me, before kissing me softly under the stars. Yes, of course it was unrealistic, but that's not the point. The point is that even if it was young love, first love, even just infatuation, it was still there.

It was three years that I waited for you. Three long middle school years, when all my friends were having short stormy romances with adolescent boys, their voices just breaking, their bodies just beginning to shoot upwards like weeds. I waited, hoping against hope that you might notice me. Well, you did notice me, we were friends, but you never noticed me. 

In eighth grade I finally admitted that I liked you. I remember it. I gave myself a good talking to, and I said to myself, "girl, if you want to snog this boy, you need to make a move." Those, embarrassingly enough, were my exact words to myself. I cringe now, thinking of it.

I sent you that letter. Three pages long it was, detailing in logical and concise terms how much sense it made for us to go out. I had three pages of reasons why we would be able to see each other, why we would work well together, why any possible argument you could make had a very logical and sensible rebuttal. And you sent me back a half a page of cramped writing telling me that you didn't like me like that.

I was shocked. It had never occurred to me that it might be that simple. I had built our entire friendship and relationship up to such a point that I honestly believed that the only reason you weren't going out with me was because of some worry about how we would work together. 

And then, when I had decided that the letter must have been a manifestation of "teenaged boy running away from girl" syndrome, you did it again. This time was at the eighth grade graduation dance. You danced with that blonde beauty, I can't even remember her name anymore. You danced with her while I watched from the sidelines.

And finally, when I was dared to ask you to dance, you turned me down. You turned me down! You refused even to give me that, not even to dance with me! This time I was better. I had been half expecting it, so I just walked away. I went over to a corner and shook for a while, then threw myself into the dance with determination. 

I was furious at you for a while. I really was. You had turned me down, and not even given me a good explanation! I was mad. I got over you right then and there, and began to plot my revenge. I would make you fall for me, and then- well, then we would see what would happen.

I got help. I got my two best friends to help me out. They threw parties so that I would have an excuse to show up looking good, pool parties so I could be in a bathing suit, costume parties so I could dress up in a bodice and show off. Most of them were at least half inspired by my desire to get back at you.

And you never even guessed, did you...