You were my rebellious stage. It wasn’t real rebellion, of course. It was 7th grade rebellion where you tell your mom you only wear black now and you crush soda cans with your bare hands because it’s hardcore.
My friends hated you. Nobody could understand why I would
want to be with someone like you. They didn’t find you cute and your style was
questionable. Tripp pants and band shirts? Swoon.
We sat together in science class. The lights would go out
for movie day and I’d feel your hands brush up against mine. We both acted like
it wasn’t happening, but it always made my heart race. I always wished I had
kissed you.
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