Why can I distinguish your laugh in a sea of talking and laughing people? Why can I see your air no matter how far away you are from me? Why can I pretty much sense your presence when you walk into a room? Why can I hear your distinct voice with the hint of a lisp from your braces over dozens of others? I'll tell you why: I like you.
But why -- how -- could I possibly like you? You aren't really attractive in any way, plus you're relatively short. You're obnoxious and annoying, you're just everything I hate in a guy. But for some inexplicable reason, I really, really like you. The only good trait you have is that you're funny.
I remember last year, before I liked you -- well, before I realized I liked you -- and everything you did made me roll my eyes, though I had to attempt to stifle a laugh. During Home and Careers I was angry that I got put next to you thanks to our last names. I knew you wouldn't do any real work in our cooking group, and would just distract me in the other quarters when we switched teachers. And you did -- I managed to concentrate well enough, but even then, I couldn't ignore your distinct laugh. During one of our classes, I was called down to guidance, and you were the loudest of the -- I don't remember, two? -- other "Ooooh"'s. Then, when I came back, you clapped obnoxiously, "Yay, Cassidy!" I rolled my eyes and took my seat next to you.
Then in Exploratory you gave me a nickname. Instead of calling me Cassidy, pronounced KASS-ih-dee, you called me Cassidy, pronounced "Kuhs(like cuss)-EYE-dee," which sort of sounded like Poseidon, therefore I think it'd be spelled Cusseidy. I think you came up with it to bug me, which you enjoyed doing, but honestly, I didn't mind. Truthfully, I liked it -- it was unique. There may be other Cassidy's in the world, but only one Cusseidy.
Then, over the summer, I realized I liked you. It just came to me one night -- I was thinking about who I liked and you came to mind. Thinking it over, I decided I did like you. I hated you, but I liked you. And now it's a full-blown crush. As much as you still annoy me, as much as I openly act (mostly genuinely) like I hate you, there's a voice in the back of my mind that won't let me forget about my crush.
Last year, we saw each other daily, in Exploratory or Home and Careers. That was back before I developed a crush on you -- before I realized it, at least. But now I have no classes with you, but you're in my Study Hall. I doubt you even know it, though. Believe me, I noticed. The first time we talked this year was only a few days ago, on the lunch line. I was talking to my friend, and she gestured behind me with her eyes. I nodded, "I know." I always notice you. But I didn't talk to you, I acted like I didn't care you were behind me. You greeted me, "Hey, Cassidy." I considered my options of how to respond, and I decided to roll my eyes and wave. Naturally, you made fun of me. I mean, you're you. I just turned back to my friend, one of the three -- two, at the time -- who know I like you. A few moments later, you asked me for a dollar. I considered it, but said no. You asked me again and again, and I kept saying no. But eventually I gave in, soon after you seemed to remember your nickname for me. And then you said something, but I only remember three words of it: I love you. Obviously, you didn't mean anything by it, and I didn't let it get my hopes up at all. I just nodded and turned back to my friend, who was smirking. My mind and heart were racing. You kept mentioning how I was your friend, and you stopped a guy from cutting me. You said something along the lines of, "No, that's my friend, Cassidy." Those words, though I know you didn't mean them, meant the world to me.
We haven't talked since, unless you count earlier today on the bus when you were walking home, we passed you, and half the bus, including me, yelled your name. Two people changed it to something mean, and I couldn't scold them for it, because I could never let on that I liked you. But I felt bad for you, though it didn't seem to bother you.
I notice you while you're acting like an idiot during study, not even knowing that while I was talking to and laughing with my friend, I was listening to the sound of your voice, your annoying laugh.
I don't know exactly when I started to like you. I think it was because of a little green monster when I heard that you liked one of my close friends last year. I decided to find out if this was true or not, so during Home and Careers, I asked you if you liked her. You shrugged and did something I never expected of you -- you looked uncomfortable. But you did say yes. Then I asked you, "Are you going to ask her out." And you did something even more surprising -- you were quiet! For the first time since I've known you, you didn't look confident. You mumbled, "I don't know . . ." And I just said, "Oh, cool." And, BAM! Jealousy. Just slight, but it was the start of my crush I think.
The other day, my friend and I were racing to the lunch line as always, and I was in the lead, for once. But as I was about to skid to a stop, I saw the back of your blonde head and your purple jersey. So I pushed my friend in front of me. I don't know why. I mean, I want to talk to you. I want to see you more. I want to get to know the real you. But I guess I was nervous.
I still don't know why I like you.
Perhaps I never will.
But I do.
I really do.
I hope I'll talk to you soon.
Until then, I'll keep seeing you in the hallways and during study, not acknowledging you. You probably don't even notice how I lose my train of thought when I see you down the hall.
But I still like you.
Why's don't matter.