It’s hard, because boys are difficult to deal with.

Sometimes I want to be loved so badly that I curl up at night and clutch my sheets so hard that just for an instant, there’s a strong, handsome boy there with me. A boy whom I love, a boy who is nice and beautiful but does not speak. He doesn’t have a face, either. He kisses me and holds me, and at times I want to dream forever so we will never part, but he never says a word and I never see his face.

Other times I do see a face, a face I know, a face I smile at in the hallways and talk to at my locker. And he talks to me, and his voice is familiar. So when I curl up at night, I see his face and hear his voice and we talk about everything. But the lips that talk to me are only for talking, nothing else.

Other times, there is no boy. It’s just me and Maddie with purple hair sitting on her couch and eating Goldfish. And sitting there with her is enough. Because we know that every day without exception, we’ll meet at her locker after school and walk to her house where the road bends, then drop our bags and go into the familiar kitchen and take out the parmesan Goldfish from the cabinet and sit on her couch. I may start to tell her about the faceless, voiceless boy, but she stops me and nods because she already knows. And then I may start to tell her about the lips that only talk, but again she just smiles and nods. I smile, too, because I’m glad she knows. So we just sit on the couch and eat our Goldfish.