THIS SUCKS
He avoids me for eight days. On day eight, I felt like I was dying. In the shower, I thought there was something wrong with my heart. The ache left me gasping for air. No matter how much I cursed myself for being dramatic, I couldn’t fix it. I had always scoffed at the idea of love. Love was for children and stupid people. However, no matter how unrealistic the idea is, there’s no other word for this. I feel like Halloween night I had my first bite of food, and now that it’s gone I realize how hungry I’d been. I’ve been starving all my life, and I never knew it.
In Potions class, I slip him a note, reading: Let’s talk.
He reads it, sighs, and crumples it up.
Then I slide him another one, reading: I’m sorry.
He reads it, pauses, and picks up his quill.
You’re an asshole
I know, I write
I’m sorry, I write again
Why did you say those things?
I don’t know, I write
He waits
I wasn’t ready to accept it, I admit. Waiting for him to write back is agonizing.
I get that, he writes, But you don’t have to be such a prick about it
Yeah, I know. I’m sorry
A moment passes.
Will you give me another chance? I write.
He deliberates. My stomach does about twenty somersaults before he writes back.
Yeah
With that one word, dumbbell heart drops away and my chest is filled with the new, strange, beating heart, which is currently soaring through the clouds.
He steals a glance over at me, smiling tentatively, and my mind goes blank. My heart skips a beat, my stomach is filled with butterflies, my cheeks are burning hot, the whole lot of it. I feel self conscious, as if the whole class can see the cartoon heart that just popped up over my head. My answering smile is unlike any I’ve ever given, cautious and genuine. His cheeks go pink as cotton candy and his eyes flit down, and I have the feeling that maybe he feels about me how I feel about him.
He starts to write again. Wanna practice Quidditch together?