Just like in every soppy teenage love movie, there is always an older, super athletic, deep brown-eyed boy who all the girls swoon over. His annoying posse of jock friends always surrounds him. Everyone in the entire school knows his name for his flawlessness. I was a nobody to him, and girls weren’t important to him at the time. He dated a few girls, had his first kiss, and such, but he did it all because he felt he had too. When he did fall in love, he never thought it would be so soon or so quickly. I fell madly in love with this guy and made him drool over me.

Ever since the fifth grade, I’ve been swooning over the same guy, except he had no idea that I even existed. It all started in seventh grade as a whole new beginning for me. I had a new best friend; I started my first year of volleyball, and I had a boyfriend. The year went by, and I was still having the time of my life, even when I broke up with my boyfriend. I was now boyfriend-less, and I really had nothing to lose when my older friend said she would get my crush’s number for me. Shocked, I didn’t really know what to do with his number now that I had it. Even if I did text him, there was no way he would text me back or even keep texting me, but I took a chance. My friend, acting childish, told him that I had the biggest little girl crush on him ever and then proceeded to tell him to text me. Before I knew it, he texted me with the usual “hey, what’s up,” and so on. We continued to text and get deeper and deeper into conversation every night. The next few days I saw him at school with his different, cotton, sporty t-shirt on and faded, holy jeans. He seemed extremely tough and unbreakable, but if I looked into his eyes long enough, I could see the vulnerable side of him. Around my friends and everyone else, I acted spontaneous and carefree, but around him I was a complete wallflower.

Waiting by my sister’s locker after school one day, he walked by and said, “Hey” to me for the first time. His hair just graced the top of his eye line, which brought out the freckles that surrounded his alluring eyes and nose. My beating heart sank, so I sounded like an idiot when I said, “Heello,” back in a quivering voice. Walking on by, he grinned at me, as if to kind of laugh at me. My cheeks turned a deep pink as I collapsed into the gray, rusty locker as an attempt to hide because I thought that I might die over hearing his deep, captivating voice talking to me. Attempting to cover up the biggest smile on my face, my sister walked up to me at her locker. She glared at me with her glossy emerald eyes and raised her eyebrows all the way home. I kept thinking, “Don’t ask; don’t ask; don’t ask me what happened.” I gave a huge sigh of relief when we finally made it to our cozy blue home, and I obviously sprinted in the white door.

We actually had our first, tense conversation the next day. After his baseball practice, I worked up enough courage and awkwardly walked towards him. “Hey, wait up,” I softly yelled with a shaky, uneasy voice as he started to walk towards the school. Stopping and spotting me out, he remarked, in his ever-so-clever way, “Oh hey. You finally decided you wanted to talk to me.” Blushing, I giggled gleefully, and I ran to catch up with him. It turned out to be an extremely lame conversation about baseball, but I was pleased with myself we even talked. We talked for a few weeks before he invited me to one of his baseball games. I went, of course, with a few of my older friends. His baseball hat smashed his hair more down into his big eyes, so he could barely see. I could tell when he would look my way all the way from the red dirt-covered third base.

When the game was over, I waited by the faded blue ticket booth for my parents to pick me up. He walked up to me, and as I started to say, “Good job,” he cut me off and gave me the biggest hug ever and thanked me for coming to his game. My stomach hiccupped out of excitement and delight, my smile started to curve upward, which made my dimple appear, and my ears rang from the loud squeals my friends gave when he wrapped his warm arms around me. His hug filled my body with warmth, like when I drink hot chocolate and it slowly travels through my body and warms my insides. It was a frigid, sunny spring afternoon when he officially asked me to be his girlfriend. Our new, fresh, devoted relationship was like a little kid waking up on Christmas morning, filled with excitement and new surprises. It was all so surreal, but it was true. I had it all.

Everything seemed perfect for up to two years. But close to two years later, he started acting funny and keeping secrets from me. I had to find information out the hard way, as he lied to my face. Breaking my heart in more ways than I knew were possible, I had to find out information I didn’t even know about him from the outside world. I spent weeks bawling my eyes out, locked in my gloomy, crammed room. I would call him asking him why he did this to me and what I did wrong, and he just apologized many times for all the heartache he caused. I shouted, “Why! Why did you do this to me? To us?”

His always, calm response, “Anna, stop this. I’m sorry. Why won’t you forget this and forgive me?” He always lingered on the end of the word me, making it everlasting. His words were as sharp and cold as ice sickles on a dry winter day when he told me of more crippling details of what had happened. He was heartbroken for breaking my heart, but he also regretted all of his idiotic mistakes that broke my heart. We went through all the tension-filled arguing and useless fighting for about a month. Finally, we worked everything out, and I had decided to give him another chance. I do not regret this decision because we did make good memories on this second go round, but after another year the situation turned around again. I could never fully trust him again for all that he did, so throughout the year he kept pushing me farther away. It was like I was an annoying little kid. He couldn’t get rid of me, but he didn’t want me there. I couldn’t do anything right for him; it seemed. Eventually, I gave up on trying because one can only try so hard before nothing works. I gave it my all, and he gave almost nothing. Once I left, he realized what he had lost, but it was too late.

From that moment on, I wish to relive each one of these individual memories, for they were the best memories of my life. Every day goes by, and I miss every one of these moments. Every girl dreams of having the perfect love story, and I had it. I went through all the cute texts, the long nights talking on the phone, and holding hands through every nail-biting situation. I will never forget the safeness I felt when hugging his warm, thin figure, the soothing, engaging voice he made whenever I was upset to cheer me up, or his smell of fresh Tide detergent and enticing sent of cologne that always lingered everywhere he went.