Three years. Three years I've liked her. The whole time that I've been in school with her. All that time and she's never spoken to me. Except for that time in gym, which - pathetically - meant a lot to me. How could she ignore me? Why didn't I have the guts to talk to her? Because I knew she didn't like me? I'm too skinny; I'm ugly; I don't fit in. She could see all that, but there's more to me. More inside. But she couldn't see that.

Those three years were all I could take. I had to talk to her; she was driving me crazy. Maybe I'll find out that she really likes me. Who am I kidding; she'll spit in my face. I don't care. If I talk to her I'll feel much better; I'll get it off my shoulders. I can't talk face to face; I'll call her. It'll be great. I'll tell her I like her and she will take it from there.

So I called her. Why didn't I know what would happen? Inside, I did, and I shouldn't have expected too much. She blew me off; she didn't care at all. How could I have been so naive and expect so much from so little? Now she doesn't just not talk to me; she ignores me. Every time I see her is mental anguish. She can't even tell me she hates me; she's playing with my mind. I really don't know what to do; this is tough for me. I must have been crazy to call her ... n