Oof! Sorry, it's been a really long time.

Well, long story really really short, I was in love with this boy since 4th grade. We went to elementary and middle school together, and although we were close in elementary we slowly started drifting apart, because he's the kind of person that talked to anyone no matter what they looked like, and he quickly became popular. We didn't have any classes together either, so I started low-key stalking him, hoping to catch a glimpse of him in the hallways and such, though I stuck to the wall and avoided eye contact whenever he passed, stayed after school and placed my hand on his locker. I remembered everything about him, and while that sounds very romantic in books and movies, it turns pretty creepy when you keep a google do*ent with all of the information you've compiled about them over the years, knowing you won't forget anything but not wanting to take the risk. It gets even more creepy when you * into their school account and leave them a confession letter (Everyone's password was just the first 5 letters of their last name followed by their date of birth, and can you really expect middle schoolers to NOT do that when it's so easy? In retrospect though, that was a very bad idea).

The second to last day of middle school (I had it perfectly planned out because I knew the chances of me seeing him on the last day when we would take our school field trip were very slim), I planned to confess to him. The timing here is very important. I remembered, long, long ago when we were still friends, that his parents were considering sending him to a private school, and the chances of that happening were very, very high. I sectioned off an area of my yearbook for "Gym Patrol," which we had been in together in 5th grade, and made sure to get the signature of at least one other person so as to not appear su*ious. Then, the exchange went as following:

Me: Hey! Can you sign my yearbook?
Him: Of course! Here's mine.

*silence as we scribble*

Me: *clears throat*

And then guess what happens? Something about me... I don't do well in romantic situations. Like, at all. My brain completely shuts down and my mouth shoots off whatever it wants (which has it's own stories, but not for today). So I say, in a completely monotone voice,

"By the way, I've had a crush on you for the past seven years."

I didn't look at him, but I thought, "Dang, I f***ed up." I could feel my face burning. That was definitely not how I planned it, me in my ratty hoodie and sweats, me with my braces and glasses and acne and sweat. I had been reading waaaaay too much shoujo manga. Things like that rarely happen in real life, which is why they're so fun to read. I coughed, attempting to backpedal.

"Uh, weird huh?"

"Yeah..." he echoed in a small voice, "Weird..." I finally snuck a glance at his face. It was bright red, but not the red of reciprocated love. Noooononono, this was embarrassed red, mortified red, why-would-you-do-this-in-public red. I stared at the ground, heat pouring off my cheeks, clutching the sharpie for the minimal comfort it provided.

"Well, see ya," I squeaked, taking back my yearbook and turning tail.

"See ya..." he said softly.

One year later, I was like, "Hey! He never flat out rejected me... I'll try following him on Twitter!"

I was blocked.