Yes

Freshman year was almost over, done. Everyone was tapping their pencils anxiously, glancing up at the clock every few seconds. I didn't want it to end. You're probably asking, "Why? Freshmen are stupid, useless creatures. Their only purpose is to be there for seniors to take their anger out on. Freshman girls are just props for the guys to fuck around with while their girlfriends fill out college apps."

I know that, but the end of the year meant graduation. Graduation meant losing... him. He was the boy I could never have, the one totally out of my league; he was the musical prodigy, the senior... then there was me: The awkward freshman girl with eyes the size of fucking Canada. I had no chance with him. But that didn't change anything. I loved him with every little cell in my body.

And he knew I loved him, but he didn't know the extent. He had no idea how much I cried over him, no idea how much he was on my mind. He remained blissfully unaware that he was the only thing I wished for on fifteen birthday candles, stars, an alarm clock... fuck, even airplanes. He just knew that I thought he was good looking and sweet.

Maybe you're getting the wrong idea about him. Maybe you think he's a conceited asshole. Well, he isn't. He's anything but. He puts up with me and talks to me; he smiles and waves, he'll sing my name if he needs me to help him with something. There isn't a mean bone in his body and he's incapable of hate. He's sensitive, sweet, thoughtful... anything I could ever want and more.

But that one day in AP English, he sat down beside me. I froze up and slowly looked at him, a trillion thoughts running through my head. Does my hair look okay? Do I have anything on my face? Am I wearing too much makeup? What does he think of me? I stopped breathing as he slipped me a piece of paper. I unfolded it and read it slowly, observing his handwriting.

Are you going to be upset when I leave?

I looked at him and saw those beautiful brown eyes looking at me expectantly. Should I tell him everything? Should I tell him about how I stalk his facebook page for hours on end? How I went out of my way to find out where he lives? How I know his phone number by heart and can fit his name into any song EVER? I sighed and bit my lip.

I grabbed my pencil and scribbled a fast response. I said, "No."

A little smile flashed across his face as he slipped it back to me. He could see through that, he knew my answer. He leaned over and said, in a hushed tone, "Well, I'm gonna miss you." With that, he got up and walked into the hallway. I gulped, taking in those words. I fingered the note carefully and picked up my pencil. But, you know-- I wanted to say "Yes."