We walked together in the hall like always. I made my hand incredibly accessible and even swung it more than necessary so it would be noticed and then connected with his. He accepted my touch for a moment before casually letting go to adjust his boxer/pant ratio.

Then he sat with his friends at lunch. He always sat with his friends, but always sat to my left the first half of the hour. That day Steve ate with them all hour, and I got so sick of the empty seat's company that I went over to sit with them. I was greeted warmly be silence. The silence and I became so closely acquainted that we excused ourselves early so it could walk me to my next class.

The next day he called me after cheerleading practice, asking if we could hang out. I was reminded of the beginning of the school year, when he would randomly miss me and needed to see me, no matter how sweaty or gross I thought I looked after practice. We ended up sitting on his basement couch until finally he kissed me. It was so forced, slimy, and cold that it was almost unbearable.

I spent the next few days dressing up in my cutest clothes, hoping he would see me and what he was missing, but also purposefully avoiding acknowledging his presence. Lunch was no longer eating with friends; it was sitting alone in the library, tearing between piles of encyclopedias and Disney tales, waiting for him to show up and hug me, asking where I've been and reminding me that it's been almost a week since he had called me. The longer I waited, the more I wished.

That Friday I cheered an away game for basketball. I was almost overjoyed to see I missed call from Steve as I rode the noisy bus home. I dialed back and made plans for him to pick me up once the bus reached BHS, and then hang out at my house. Well, the drive back was silent as his hand rested on the stick shift, switching gears. More than my next breath I wanted to just reach out and grab that hand, just to make sure he would grab mine back. But this time I couldn't do it, and instead held my breath.

I stumbled into my room, removing my sweaty shell and skirt and pulling on sweatpants in their place. I couldn't help but notice his eyes drop to the floor, admiring cpare patterns and stains instead of his girlfriend's body. His hands were in his lap, holding each other. That was it. I rushed over, forcing his hands apart and pulling him close to me. I was pushed away. "Rachael," Steve said, "You are a good person. You don't deserve me. It's just, I haven't felt the same way about you the last couple of weeks. I'm sorry."

And then he left.