So for the past two posts,

(including this one) I've been sounding like a total fifteen year old. And I hate it. But I have a story. 

*WARNING: is practically drenched in clichefifteenyearoldness*

So I've had a thing for this guy pretty much since sixth or seventh grade, which was when I met him. I was fairly certain he didn't even know that I existed, until the last day of eighth grade rolled around, that is. You see, everyone was signing everyone's yearbooks with just their name and perhaps a little message, or a "H.A.G.S." or a "H.A.K.A.S." or something of that very unpersonalized sort, in just the way that most middle schoolers do yearbook signings these days. Things were going just that way in my American History class when said guy asked for my yearbook. So I pivoted on my heal, smiled, and switched yearbooks with him. Whilst doing so, my hand must've been visible to him because as I gripped the binding of his black yearbook, he complimented me on my fingernails. I'd painted them in just my very favorite way with a doubly layered (so that the colors would show up right) limishyellowish green polish with two black stripes on each nail that switched from horizontal to vertical with every other finger. Trying my best not to rocket through the ceiling over the fact that he'd complemented me about anything at all, I thanked him and spun around so as to hide the Cheshire grin that had slipped onto my face from one cheek to the other. I attempted to flippantly sign his yearbook on the nearest desk with a little stroke of my hand, using my, in my opinion, absolutely abstract, crazy, artistic, and original penmanship to toss my name onto the glossy pages of his overpriced, overkill middle school yearbook. We then swapped the books back to their original owners and both went on our own ways. Just a tad later, in my next class (so I wouldn't seem too eager) I finally looked at his signature, expecting simply his name to be written in a guyish scrawl. What I found was just a bit more than just a name. Written in the same guyish scrawl that I'd expected directly under my friend [insertnamehere]'s signature was this: "[insertnamehere] thinks that Mallorie (that's me) is hott!" (I didn't put his name on here for interweb safety. Same with earlier friend.) Now, this may seem quite vain and not really important, but at the time, I practically shot to the moon with bliss. And I know it wasn't a sweet and it wasn't perfect, but he was a middle school boy, what do you expect, a Shakespearean, Romeo-esque monologue? Don't think so. I was happy about it and that was all that mattered to me. Later I found out that it couldn't have been a joke because he didn't sign it in anyone else's so why would he bother joking with just me, especially when he had hardly ever talked to me. Summer passed and in the year that followed we didn't see much of each other and when we did we didn't talk much. Except in second semester, when we had World Geography together, so we talked a bit then. But by then, the yearbook thing was a thing of the past, forgotten by the both of us.(or so it seemed from my end, even though I hadn't really forgotten about it.) Summer came again and started moving along quickly in just the way that it does. This summer to be more specific. Tonight..or technically yesterday, I went to a sixteenth birthday party at the pool for my friend, [insertnamehere]. (different friend, and I'm still protecting from interwebbiness) I arrived late along with one or two other people because we had been in/working on a Willy Wonka show we were, of course, obliged to be at. After stripping down to my mismatched, blue plaid on top and pink plaid on bottom, bikini and hopping into the pool, I noticed a certain boy was there. Yes, it was him. So about 46 seconds (I'm estimating here) after I'd jumped in, he looks over at me and says "Oh! Mallorie! When did you get here?." He seemed happy to see me. That was probably, regardless of how fun my night at the pool had been, the highlight of my evening. But see, here's the thing. He has a girlfriend. She's a grade older than we are and is also bigger than him. This may be just because I'm quite biased, but I don't really think that the couple works too well. They've been going out for the past month or maybe a little more, though. 

Anyways, I'm not sure what my point was in going through all this typing, really, except maybe to get it off my chest, but that's pretty much the end..or at least up to date, in any case. Thanks for reading my pretty much plot-missing story.