You were always in my way. In the two classes we had together, Chemistry and English, you always sat exactly in front of me, and would talk so loud with your friends that I couldn’t hear the teacher. Whenever I saw you in the halls, you’d be leaning on your locker with your friends, which happened to be next to mine, and say “hi, new girl” to me so that my cheeks would burn up and I would forget my combination.

            The first time you ever said my name was the winter term of my first year here. I was in our chemistry class, trying hard to keep up with the teacher’s fast-paced explanation of some question on the last test. You were whispering and laughing with your friend, and you suddenly turned back and asked me for a pen. I handed you the pen I was using, without meeting your dark beautiful eyes.

“Thank you, new girl,” you said.

“It’s Grace,” I said on a sudden impulse, and I met your stare.

 “My bad,” you chuckled, “Thank you, Grace.”

“You’re welcome. What’s your name?”

“Nikolas.” You smiled at me before turning back to face the board.

Your friend nudged you and you smacked the back of his head. I spent the rest of the class staring at the hoodie of your black jacket that fit so perfectly on your back. My insides felt warm as my mind was wandering and contemplating our first conversation. As soon as the bell rang, you shot out of your seat and chased your friends out of the classroom.

            The first time we hung out was the next day. I was in our English class, and you stretched your long arms casually right above my open notebook and dropped a ball of paper on my table. I opened it up, my stomach fluttering. I read it: LET’S HANG OUT AFTER SCHOOL, GRACE:). I smiled and wrote a SOUNDS GOOD on the wrinkled notebook paper and tossed it right on your closed notebook. I saw you open it, and though you weren’t facing me, I knew you were smiling. Then you folded the note carefully and put it in your backpack. Once the bell rang, you punched your friend next to you and galloped with him out of the classroom.

            After school, I kept my head down as I unlocked my locker. I knew you were next to me with your group of friends.

“Don’t be a stranger, Grace,” your calm voice sounded amused.

I followed you out of the school, and we walked into the cold air. You asked me to talk about myself; to tell you everything that I wanted you to know. So. I told you about how I moved to Massachusetts from Virginia with my parents who move around for work all the time. I told you about how my grandma’s death made me become more grateful for everything that I had. I told you about the few friends I had in the school choir club. You listened as if I was telling you the most important secrets of the universe.

            We came to a coffee shop and I asked you why you wanted to hang out with me. You were humored by this question, I could tell, as a faint smirk appeared on your face. You ran a hand through your dark hair and replied “I thought you were cute, and I wanted to get to know you.”

            And you did. We got to know each other. From then on, you would ruffle my hair every time you saw me in the halls, and toss me stupid notes when we were in class. Outside of school, we spent almost every afternoon studying in your house while eating your mother’s amazing blueberry muffins, and nights at the cinema or the bowling alley.

The first time we kissed was in the spring. You asked me to be your date to the annual spring party at your guy friend Jake’s house. I was nervous because this was the first ever party I was going to in this new town. You put your arm around me as we walked to Jake’s house which was just a few streets away. I could smell your musty cologne and I felt happy and comfortable under your warm embrace.

The party was overwhelming: The house was packed with hundreds of sweaty kids, the EDM sounded like gunshots, and the lights were blinding. I lost you at some points of the party, like when some popular song came on, or when some guys would pull you away to meet someone. I didn’t mind that, as I enjoyed watching you dance wildly, and do crazy handshakes with complete strangers because that was the type of person you were.

At some point that night, you came back and grabbed my hands, asking me to dance. I complied, and danced with you. We made up stupid dance moves together, and I never laughed harder in my life. Then we somehow made it into a dark hallway. You leaned into me. Our faces were inches away from each other. I could smell your sweet breath, and I felt like my heart could just burst out of my chest in that moment.

Your head hovered close to mine for a moment, before pulling away. My face was burning. You held my sweaty hand in yours. I could see your smile in the darkness and your lips whispered “be my girlfriend, Grace.” I didn’t even reply, and you leaned in and we kissed.

That kiss I will remember forever.

We spent the rest of the school year as a couple. We grew together. I would go cheer for you in all your baseball games and you would embarrass me with your loud applause at my choir recitals. You introduced me to your guy friends, and I no longer felt intimidated to go to my locker. I helped you with English, and you helped me with Chemistry. We met each other’s parents. Your mother loved me, and my parents loved you. Your hugs gave me life, and your kisses made me feel things I never felt before.

The last time I saw you we were sitting together in English. I was leaning my head on your shoulder barely awake because I pulled an all-nighter for my Calculus test. You were taking detailed notes for the first time this whole year, for me. I dozed off so you woke me up by whispering in my ear that you were going to excuse yourself and get me some coffee. “I’ll be right back” was what you said to me before you excused yourself. I nodded without even opening my eyes to look at you.

But you didn’t come back. Or maybe when you did, you had turned into someone else. And that someone else was no longer concerned with me, let alone distracted.

Sometimes I wonder, were you real? Were you a figment of my imagination, a mirror depicting back the me I so desperately wanted to see? Is love real, or is it a mirage, carefully constructed by two, only to so easily be deconstructed by one.