I sat at my computer, playing some game I really didn't care about; my eyes staring blankly, not really absorbing what I saw. I sighed, quit the pointless game, and let myself slip into another reverie of him.

There he was. Sigh. It had been passing time between third and fourth period last Wednesday when our eyes met for the first time in over four months. I smiled involuntarily, then almost immediately turned away, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment. Why did I have to keep reminding myself that I was the one that was being insane? He had broken up with me in early November when I admitted a deep personal secret; I'm bisexual. He had replied with a cool, "F*ck you; it's over." So why did I still care?

He had been my first real love and passion since fairies in the third grade; we had dated for the sum of over half a year, on-and-off because my parents didn't approve of my choice. He was, as parents would call it, a "bad boy", and I was the kind of person you'd call an overachiever... though, to me, he was so, so perfectly right; even though his family hunted and I was rendered a sobbing mess by the sheer thought of killing any form of life - even for survival. Also, I had made him one hundred paper wasps when that fad was popular in our school... before it had been banned by the superintendent.

I loved him. Even though we had only met in middle school and now were in the eighth grade, I loved him. Never let anyone tell you that teenagers are too young to love - we have our own adaption... but it's still love, nonetheless.

Recently, I'd gathered enough guts to go up to him after home and careers class, having just baked bread. I offered him a slice and silently cursed myself for forgetting to butter them. His response? "Oh, thanks. By the way, I'm sorry I haven't been talking to you lately." Um, what? Here I'd thought he'd hated me. then he said that he'd deleted my number and wanted it again. Against my better judgment, I gave it to him. That's when he offered me his number.

"I still-" I still had it, but it would seem a little awkward if an ex kept her old boyfriend's number, as you know, unless you want to sound like a stalker. So I changed my sentence to a quiet, "yes, please."

He smiled and gave me his number again. My heart nearly stopped when I saw his breathtaking smile. I audibly sighed.

"Are you okay?" he asked. I dug my nails into my palm, cursing myself again, and nodded.

Later that night, we had carried on a 5-text conversation, consisting of the following:
Him: hi
Me: hi :)
Him: stop that. its creepy
Me: what?
Him: making virtual smiles to your ex.

I tried texting him after that, but there was no response. I cried that night. So close, and yet so far. Sigh.

Snapping back to reality, I inhaled sharply and tried to keep myself from crying again. The worst part was that I was going to a private high school next year, and I'd probably never see him again. There wasn't even the remote possibility of him enrolling, too - it was an all-girl's school. Finally, I gave in to my emotions and cried deeply for over an hour. I love him.