I swallow hard as I walk into the lobby of the library, smoothing down my hair as I stand in front of the interior glass doors. I pull at the hem of my dress, cringing when I brush against the soft flesh of my leg. I suck in my stomach as I see him behind the desk, his messy hair visible even from feet away. I can see the thick black frame of his glasses, the v-neck cut of his white Batman shirt, and I imagine the way the muscle of his bicep shifts when he moves to scan a library card or a book. He's tall - lanky even, his body lean and bordering on thin. He's green-eyed and gorgeous, albeit unconventionally so. His lips are just a little too disproportionate, his nose slightly too crooked to be classically good-looking. He's just the right edge of geeky, and I smile each time I see his superhero shirts.

He's beautiful, but he doesn't notice me. Nobody does. I decide to take the risk I've wanted to take since I first saw him months ago, to talk to him and introduce myself. I straighten my shoulders and step forward, my arm extended to pull open the door.

And then the yellow-orange of the afternoon sun shines bright behind me, and for a moment my body is illuminated against the panes. It only lasts a second, but I know well enough how I would look anyway - the thick thighs, the bulge across my stomach, the round face and chubby arms, and I also know that I'm fooling myself if I think I can do this.

Suddenly the dress I'm wearing doesn't feel pretty or flowy like it did this morning. What once felt form-fitting is now constricting, showy and too try-hard, and I want nothing more than to be at home where I can hide away. I let my hand fall away from the door handle as I turn, my eyes on him until that very last second.

Tomorrow. I'll try again tomorrow.