Disclaimer: I don’t own Twilight or Buffy the Vampire Slayer (which I stole a line from). Although if you can identify the line that came from Buffy, I'd be very impressed.

Chapter 1

In my opinion, there are two types of girls. First of all, there is the heart-on-your-sleeve, love-conquers-all, hopeless romantic who reads trashy romance novels with half-naked men on the cover. Then, there are people who take a more practical approach towards life, a think-with-your-head, never rushes into anything without first considering it. While many of the girls at my school would definitely fall into the first category, I am proud to say that I belong to the second category.

More or less…

Possibly less…

Well, I would fall into that category if it weren’t for an annoyingly perfect someone who I practically know I have no future with, but who I secretly fantasize about asking me out, much to my displeasure. So, perhaps, I am somewhere in the middle of those categories. Not quite belonging in one or the other. Definitely not in the first, but still not quite in the second. Almost in the second though. Kind of.

At least I don’t read trashy romance novels. Well, maybe once. But it was a book I had stolen from Caroline, my older sister, years ago before I had any idea what any of it meant. Thankfully, my father saw me with it and ripped it out of my hands before I could actually get into any of the really smutty parts.

But that’s all beside the point. The real point I was trying to make here was the distinction between the two types of girls. Personally, I feel that even if I do have some sort of multiple personality disorder and do possess both types within me, the practical part is the dominant part.

And it’s not just a practicality in the romantic department; it’s more of a general practicality. And it’s something I’m proud of actually. That I have the ability to think logically about my choices and decisions before making them. However, it doesn’t always work out so well. I see him and the practical part flies out the window and in comes the hopeless romantic.

A feeling of soaring happiness floats through my body, making me feel light as a feather as I realize that he’s looking at me. No, he’s not looking. He’s staring. At me! And the hopeless romantic in me is flying while the practical part of me drags it down. He can’t be staring at me for a number of reasons.

First of all, why would he stare at me? I’ve been around for years and he’s hardly ever looked at me twice. And honestly, out of all the girls in the school to stare at, I’m sure I would not be his first choice since I’m not exactly what you’d call pretty.

Secondly, even if he were staring at me, it would probably be for some weird reason, like something stuck in my teeth or toilet paper stuck to my shoe or something else equally embarrassing.

And third of all, he can’t stare at me because when he does, it renders me absolutely pathetic in his presence. And pathetic-ness is not an option since I’ve decided to move on. And I can’t move on if I’m staring pathetically at him. So he really, really can’t be staring at me.

Or approaching me!

It’s not freaking possible that he’s approaching me right now. No, he couldn’t be. Soon, he’ll walk past me and I’ll discover that I’ve been standing around like a pathetic mess for no reason. And I’ll feel awful. And tomorrow, I’ll get over him tomorrow. I’ll start being barely aware of existence tomorrow.

But if he keeps standing right in front on my locker like he is right now, then it’s going to be pretty hard.

“Um, hi.”

My voice barely squeaks out and I feel ridiculous and now he thinks that I sound like Squeaky Fromme. If he knows who she is. He probably does since he’s all-around brilliant. So now he’s probably mentally comparing me with a crazy person.

And I can feel my face slowly heat up and I know my cheeks are red, so I quickly look down at my feet.

“Um, hi,” he says sounding strangely nervous. My head shoots up instantly and I wonder what he could possibly have to be nervous about.

“Hi.”

Then I blush again, realizing that I’ve just said hi to him twice. But he looks more amused by my words than anything else. He’s smiling at me with a strange expression on his face that I can’t quite identify. And I offer him my own tentative smile in return.

“Could you – I mean, do you think th-that you could maybe… move?” I stumbled over the words. Mumbling too. It’ll be a miracle if he understood anything that I just said.

My face feels hotter. My heart is racing faster. My palms are sweatier.

“What?”

“It’s just that you’re standing in front of my locker.”

And I am so thankful that I was able to get out all of the words without stuttering this time. Jared’s reaction isn’t quite what I expected. He moves aside instantly – which I did actually expect since he is practically a saint after all. But his face falls as if he’s just done something absolutely horrible and he nervously stutters – yes, he actually stutters! – so much that I can barely understand the words he’s saying, but I think he is trying to apologize. And his nervousness seems to give me the confidence that I have been lacking so far.

“It’s fine,” I say, proud of the steadiness in my voice.

But he continues to apologize anyways.

“I’m sorry. I really am. I didn’t mean to. I just really wanted to… talk to you.”

I freeze. I had imagined this moment. I even wrote about in my diary. And then I crossed it out, so ashamed that I had ever even done that.

“You wanted to what now?”

“Um, talk. To you! I was thinking that we’ve gone to school for years and years.”

“Just two,” I corrected. “I just moved here two years ago.”

“Oh, why?”

Why? Because my parents were divorced, my father died, and my sister and I had no choice but to live with our mother. Although I use the term mother quite loosely.

However, none of this is actually anything I feel like discussing with anyone, even someone as perfect as Jared.

“I’m not actually comfortable talking about that.”

“I’m sorry!” he apologized much more earnestly than the situation warranted again.

“Don’t worry about it! Really!” I said, not anxious to listen to him stumble over another apology. “It’s not you. I don’t talk about it with anyone.”

He nodded understandingly.

“Okay. But I was saying that we’ve gone together to school for two years. And I don’t really know you at all. So, I thought that maybe we could get to know each other better.”

I nodded, not entirely comprehending the conversation. It feels almost like a fantasy, but it feels so real at the same time too.

And I just don’t understand…

Why would he do this?

And then the only possible logical explanation – the illogical explanation being that he is actually interested in me – is that sweet, perfect Jared had to make himself even more perfect by befriending poor, homely, nerdy people. Damn him! This was going to make it even harder to move on.

“So, what do you think?”

What do I think?

A world of no.

No, no thanks. I don’t want your pity. I don’t want to raise my hopes by foolishly thinking that this is actually an invitation on a date. And I don’t want to feel this way about you anymore. I don’t know if I’m in love with you or not, but I don’t like it. So, no, sorry, can’t.

But it’s not like I could say all that to him.

“I don’t want…”

His face is falling. He looks completely heartbroken. And I feel heartbroken just from looking at his crestfallen face.

“It’s okay. If you don’t want to...”

“I do want to!” I protest, realizing just how much I really did want to. But at the same time… Ugh! Why was my life so freaking complicated? I want something and I don’t want something. And I’m not sure how I feel and everything is just so complicated. Why can’t things be simpler?

“Okay. Right now?”

“Well, I have class right now.”

“After school then?”

“Um, sure.”

“Great! See you then!”

What the hell just happened?!