Dear me at 15:
The year is 1998, and right now, you think you love a boy in your study hall.
Well, I am writing…13 years later to tell you that you don’t.
This is the story of how I (unfortunately) became qualified to make such a harsh (but accurate) accusation, but first, a little background.
This boy will just happen to be standing in the parking lot on the same afternoon that your older sister lets you drive a lap around the parking lot in her car. Your eyes will meet in the space between your knuckles, and for some reason, this will seem magical to you.
A few days later, you will have a conversation about supermodels. He will say to you, “I like girls with a little meat on their bones.” Being the size 12 that you are, you will over-analyze this to the hills and think to yourself two words and two words only, “Holy. Cow.” You will come to believe that this lone statement means something secretive and, again, magical (by the way, it doesn’t).
You will go home after watching him score his 100th touchdown and use black eyeliner to sketch his jersey number on your cheek the way the other girls do, you know…just to see how it looks.
Then nothing else will happen, and your heart will get bored, and also break, but just a little. Years will pass. You will both graduate. You will dye your hair light brown. He will start his own business (or so you will hear).
You will run into him at your favorite watering hole where you and your friends practically own the place. He will greet you warmly and spend the rest of the evening at your table…with you.
You will spend the better part of the night feeling impossibly cool.
As he turns to leave, he will bid you farewell and make a lips-puckering-motion with his smackers. You will take this as a good sign and, feeling rather bold, plant a Big One square on his lips. You will later find out he was merely chewing the inside of his cheeks; a nervous habit. You will be humiliated, but you will get over it.
And then, he will call you. He will make plans to see you, but they will fall through.
He will blow you off time and time again….which will be confusing.
After a few months of silence, you will run into him again. He will drink too much alcohol and touch your waist like a boyfriend would. He will tell you he likes the color of your hair and ask none-of-your-business-type questions. Time will pass, but eventually, he will call and apologize which will again, be confusing.
You will surprise yourself by responding, “I think if you were THAT into me, you would have called sooner.”
And that will be the end of that. You will have embarrassed The One You Once Loved (not to mention knocked him down a peg). You will have lost him in the process. However, you will have gained quite a bit; a newfound sense of respect and a pretty good tale to tell your heartbroken kids. In the end, it will sound something like, “Chin up, he will likely grow up to be a jerkface anyway.”
P.S. I love you tons, but your bangs are out of control right now. Eventually, they are going to do this really sexy-swoopy-thing. However, they are currently doing something unswoopy and disastrous. Now would be a good time to invest in a pack of barrettes.
Holly is currently married to a boy who is not a jerkface and always calls when he says he will. They enjoy living in the Midwestern US where she regularly blogs about her mishaps and adventures at http://yourstrulyh.blogspot.com/.