I used to be much more shy. I was the type of person that hid the fact that I had a crush, even from friends. Now I’m much more open. I want my friends to know. I want my crush to know. If you don’t try, you can’t succeed, right? And so that’s what I’m doing right now. I’m writing a letter to let him know. Yeah, a letter is kind of lame, but at least it’s better than over text. I don’t have his number anyways. After I finish writing my letter, I read it over. Cute. Creepy. OOF. I fold it into thirds.

~~
“Hey, it’s me.” HIM.
“I got your letter.” Oh god.
“I don’t think you’re creepy by the way.” Phew.
I think for a bit. “Thank goodness,” I respond.
“I didn’t tell my friend by the way. But he found out by himself. Seems to be disappointed.” Huh? Disappointed?
“?” I type.
“He got it in his head that you two were dating.” This is news to me. I only didn’t want him to know, because I didn’t want too many people to know I had been rejected by the person I liked.
“Oh.”
“I have to go, but ttyl.”
“I can’t promise I won’t run away.”
“Okay then, might text you later.”
“Bye.” Did that just happen? Was I rejected? Was I accepted? Neither? What?
~~
I open the oven, and slide out the trays. Quickly, I shove the notes in the round pieces of baked dough and fold them into fortune cookies. “Do you want to go to the dance with me?” “Do you want to go to the dance with me?” “Do you want to go to the dance with me?” “Do you want to go to the dance with me?” After I finish folding, some of the fortune cookies carrying my precious message wilt. Ugh. I shove the best looking ones on a sheet of wax paper.
~~
“Hey,” he calls as I walk out of 4th period. Ah, I was not ready for this. I fight the urge to run away and walk up to him. He already knows, I tell myself. He knows everything. My face heats up. “So, I’ll go with you to the dance, if I go. I might not be able to. Family stuff.” His nonchalant manner somehow intimidates me.
“O-okay,” I squeak out. I turn away, and finally let my feet do as they wished. I run away, hiding my face. I’m happy. So happy. So embarrassed, yet so happy.
~~
“He says it would be nice if you stopped running away from him. He wants to have a proper conversation with his date.” I bite my lip. The word “date” makes me so happy, but at the same time makes me a bit sad. It means that it’s happening, but somehow “date” seems too casual to me. I’m getting ahead of myself. Ah. I bite my lip harder.
~~
“Chloe, he said he won’t go if you won’t talk to him.”
“EEP.”
“He’s in the cafeteria, come on.” My friend grabs my hand. I press my face into their shoulder.
“I don’t want to,” I mumble.
“Come on,” someone else says. It has turned into a group venture. Three people pull me across the cafeteria. I drag my feet, but can’t gain any traction on the tile floor. The huddle of people reach the place where he sits. I catch a glimpse of his face. I want to look, but I don’t want him to see me. I lower my face, so my hair covers me. And then, while no one was expecting it, I made a break for it, back to the other side of the cafeteria. No one dragged me back. I just saw them shaking their heads and talking to him. This is shameful.
~~
I ended up buying tickets. I don’t know if he’s coming, we haven’t talked. As the line moves closer to the entrance, I look in. He's not at the dance. I glance back. He's not in the line. He's not here. He didn't come. I sigh in relief and disappointment. Sometimes things don’t work out, even if you try.