The Spencer ChroniclesA Story by Brig643
This is waaaayyyy overly dramatic. But this is a true story about my encounters with the opposite sex.
The first time we talked. Yeah, unfortunately, I remembered. It was first trimester, he was wearing his normal black sweatshirt with a white strip along the chest, red basketball shorts, and his big black shoes. It was during lunch, for some reason he was sitting alone at a lunch table. I had a big crush on him. He was smart, funny, tall, good looking. It didn't seem like there was anything wrong with him. Anyways, he was sitting alone, and of course, I wanted to look ballsy in front of my friends. I sat down next to him and talked. We talked about sports, French class (which we had together), and other such things. My palms were sweaty and I was shaking like a 9.2 earthquake. So naturally after lunch was over, I sprinted away and giggled with my friends. Little did I know, the decision to talk to this boy was a bad one.
It was mid October and a couple of friends and I had decided that going to a haunted house would be a blast. A few days had passed and I didn't talk to him, I only made really awkward eye contact with him. Which was normal for me. Since everybody else seemed to have someone to hang all over, except me (of course), I made the irrational decision of inviting him to come along with me. At the time, this idea seemed spectacular, I would get to scream, hold his hand, jump all over him, and have him protect me. It was the best idea I had in a long time. After school I ran up to him, all jumpy and twitchy and said: "I know we haven't really talked that much, but I'm going to Screamin' at the Beach, and everyone else has someone to go with and I was wondering if, err" I paused out of nervousness "you would want to go with me?" He couldn't hear me the first time because I was really short (still am) and he was ridiculously tall. After thinking for a bit, he agreed to go. I went home almost crying because I was so happy.
The day had come. It was the day we would all go to Screamin' at the Beach. I had bought a new shirt, wore my extra tight-in-the-butt-area jeans and had spent about an hour on my hair and make up. That night had to go perfect. We met up at Mall 205. It was a bigger group of people than I had planned and I felt bad because he wasn't really friends with any of them. They all got along really well. The first thing we did was wait in line for the actual haunted house. It took about 20 minutes of sweet, awkward, time. We finally got to the entrance and we all excitedly paraded inside, MISTAKE. Not only were there clowns, but zombies, insane doctors, rapist like people yelling in your ears, pop outs, and a claustrophobic tunnel. We were all shaking by the end of the haunted house and definitely didn't want to sleep alone. The kiddie haunted house next door seemed less frightening and so we tried that. Him and I held hands through that too.
About a week had past, we had been texting back and forth the whole time. I had reluctantly admitted my raging crush on him. He admitted to liking me a lot, but not wanting to date because "what's the point if it's not going to go further than that?" That really crushed me. I fell into a spiraling depression and cried all the time. I stopped talking, and stopped caring. I don't know why these words had ripped me apart so much, maybe I believed that he would like me back as much as a I did. Or maybe, it's because I wore my heart on my sleeve and refused to take it back. We still talked, but it was never the same.
All I had wanted to do was spend time with him, I wanted him to sit by me at lunch, walk me to class, you know, normal "liking" someone stuff. That never happened. He ignored me, didn't text me back, wouldn't even look at me. I began to do the same to him, to let him know how it felt. But how could he feel it if he was doing it at the same time to me? This was a dark time for me. I didn't feel like me. I was always tired from crying, I was always about to cry whenever I saw him, I just always wanted to cry. Then, the bad days came. He had brought flowers to school, I thought they were for me, but no. He walked right past me and gave them to some other girl. I wanted to die, right there. I almost burned down the whole school and tortured him with a rusty knife. I hated him. Truly and deeply hated him. So, naturally when you hate someone, you want to get back at them. I acted like I didn't care. I said "Hi" to him in the halls rarely, and whenever I did I tried to be confident. But I know it didn't work, my eyes were to sad to be confident.
This continued into the beginning of second trimester. The day we had gotten out for Winter Break, I wrote him a note. It was a sad note, saying how he had ripped me apart and left me bleeding. Which was true, overly dramatic, but true. (But then, I am a teenage girl, right? So everything is dramatic) I walked away and never heard from him again.
When I see him in the hallways, I remember the great memories that we had, and how he had ripped me up. I still don't know why he had done it, why he couldn't have just let me down gently. It would've saved me. I no longer invite tall boys to haunted houses anymore. And I no longer wear my heart on my sleeve.
© 2012 Brig643
Added on July 27, 2012
Last Updated on July 27, 2012