Andrew

Marie

In the sixth grade, I remember meeting and seeing my first love. His name was Andrew, and he was two years older than me (an 8th grader at the time). At first he was just my harmless middle school crush, but then he ended up becoming something much more. I wanted him so badly, I could taste it. Every day I would go out of my way to get a glimpse of him. I remember the first day he ever said my name ( he also happened to be student body president, so he made announcements on the intercom every day). He congratulated me over the intercom for doing well on the track team. I was giddy. Months passed, and I remained infatuated. During the last week of school, all of the students wore plain white t- shirts so their fellow classmates could sign them with markers. I giggled as all of my friends signed my shirt and wrote dumb messages. That was when I saw Andrew. I admired his tall, lanky, attractive body and decided to approach him and ask him to sign my shirt. There was a lump in my throat and butterflies in my stomach as he wrote, " Marie, hope you have a good summer" on my shoulder.

That same year, Andrew graduated, and I became depressed. I knew where he went to high school, so that gave me a bit of consolation, but it still upset me that I wasn't able to see him as often. 7 th and 8 th grade passed in a blur, and I was ready to start freshman year. I was under the the impression that I would be going to the same high school as Andrew, but we ended up moving that year and I had to go to a different high school in a different part of town. I was crushed.

On my first day of freshman year, I realized I completely hated it. I had one friend, and that was it. I was miserable. Then, at the end of the day, as I walked to my bus alone, I saw Andrew.

Turns out, he was now a junior, and started at that school in his sophomore year. I now had something to look forward to every day. I could admire him, and he had already broken up with his GF, so that was great. All throughout my freshman year, I would go out of my way to brush shoulders with him in the hallway and sit next to him on the bus. I would even risk being late to class so I could follow him to each of his classes like a sick stalker. Even though I hadn't said a word to him in 3 years, I was still madly in love with him. One day, I decided to write him a note. In it, I told him that I had been in love with him for 3 years and that I wanted to start up a friendship between us, because no matter what, I would always care for him. I had always meant to flip the note in his locker, but many complications arose, and I was unable to. I decided to just give it to him next year, even though it would be his senior year.

When I came back to start sophomore year, I realized that it would be the very last year I would see Andrew. He was a happy senior, involved in sports and academics. He even got a girl over the summer. I wasn't too crazy about her, probably because she was so thin, pretty, and perfect. But then again, Andrew was a tall, muscular, and attractive athlete, so he was bound to be with her anyway. Sophomore year passed pretty quickly, and sooner or later it was the second to last week of school. I realized that I still had to give my note to Andrew, I had only 2 days to slip it in his locker before all the students had to turn their textbooks in.

On the last day of the week, I held the tiny note in my sweaty palms. All 5 years that I had known him and loved him were described on this little sheet of paper. As the bell rang to signal the end of the last period, I ran out the door, knowing this would be my last chance to tell him I loved him. As I neared his locker, I stopped, took a deep breath, and prepared to slip it in his locker. But at that moment, I came to the conclusion that the note didn't matter anymore. Red faced, I retracted my arm and shoved the note in my back pocket. I walked away, thinking it was a huge mistake. But then it hit me: I didn't need to give him the note, because it was too late already. Besides, I knew deep down that I was in love with him, and in a weird way, he probably already knew too. As the tears started to well up, I looked back at him, watched him walk to his locker with a smile on his face, and I smiled too.