7th grade I stared at the bronze haired boy whose head came up to my nose from my seat across the crowded room.
As the teacher’s booming voice filtered through my ears, I thought, “Today’s the day. I’m going to tell him that I like him
That night, I stood against my closet door as my “friend” said with her nasal voice into the reciever, “He can hear you, Lexi. He can hear you breathing through the phone.” She shook it slightly and breathed heavily to demonstrate, her nose wrinkled with her signature, snarky smile. I fought tears as I listened to the silence on the other end. I hadn’t told him, but my friend had. In what I considered the meanest way possible–at least, the meanest way she could think of. I’d known he wouldn’t return my feelings. Who would date a fatso like me? It was okay, though…It was only puppy love.
8th grade
He sat by me in Algebra I. Stupid assigned seats. I kept peeking glances at him, wondering if he remembered what had happened the previous year. I had avoided him like wild fire since then, and didn’t plan on speaking to him again.
He had other plans. By the end of that year, we were talking again. I wouldn’t call us friends, but we didn’t completely ignore each other anymore. Thank God for assigned seats. I knew I had no chance with him, but I still had my only puppy love.
9th grade
He sat by me in English, Science, and Art. The only classes we had together. “I don’t like him anymore,” I told myself, each time I saw him. Each time I fell for him harder. By that time our heights had reversed. The top of my head didn’t reach his eyes. I wasn’t the same either. I’d lost 45 lbs. I went from being 170 to 125 and reached 5″7′ standing straight.
Every day he made me laugh, and I him. His blue-green eyes twinkled each time. We grew closer, and by the end of that year we spoke in the halls as well as in the class room. During the summer we hung out only when a mutual friend invited us over. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for me. My mind always speculated whether or not he remembered seventh grade year, when he became my puppy love.
10th grade
By some miracle, we shared every class that sophomore year. Guys became interested in me then, or, more accurately, interested in my body. My breasts had grown considerably. I went from a B cup to a D cup in the three summers since seventh grade. I dated a couple guys over that year. One tried to use me, and the other was too intimidated to even hold my hand. He never went out with anyone. I once asked him why.
“Jack,” I said while we walked to the local pizza place near our school, “Why have you never dated?”
“Well,” he replied, “I don’t want to date someone just to date. I want to date someone I actually like.”
“Huh,” I said. Me too, I thought, giving him a sidelong glance. However, he kept his gaze straight ahead.
As we chowed down on pizza slices with our friends, my mind drifted back to seventh grade, and to my only puppy love.
11th grade
We didn’t have any classes together, but we still hung out at lunch and in the halls. I gave up denying that I liked him then. Honestly, I had ceased denying the previous year, but I had tried not to acknowledge it. To just leave it be and allow it to fade on its own, but my feelings only grew.
I eventually told one of my closest friends, Jillian. Apparently, she liked him, too. Not that she could help it, he’d grown into a charming young man since seventh grade. He now had broad shoulders and a strong chin. I didn’t give my friend grief over her crush. After all, I had no chance with him. In fact, I encouraged her to make a move towards him. She was a nice girl, a good girl. She would be good for him. But her crush soon faded, leaving me to ponder over our friendship, and my unrequited puppy love.
12th grade
I knew I needed to tell him. I was no longer content with just being friends. I finally worked up the courage one day in winter. I walked out of the school doors confidently. We had planned to carpool together to the nearby Pizza Hut, since the local pizza shop shut down at the end of eleventh grade. However, when I arrived at his car I saw, through the non-tinted windows, him and a girl from the class below ours locking lips in the back seat. He broke off when he saw me, looking guilty. I prayed my face didn’t show my emotions. I had known he didn’t see me like that, but I’d held on to a tiny sliver of hope through those years.
But it disappeared in that instant. I spun around and took off toward the back off the school, where no one would be. I silently cursed myself for not driving my own car to the school. There was no way home at the moment. All of my friends were gone eating, leaving me no way to escape. When I had circled the school’s side, I stood leaned against the brick wall. I stared at the blue sky as my sobs racked my shoulders. It wasn’t like I didn’t know it would happen sooner or later. I knew he, being as he was, would find a girl eventually, but I didn’t expect it to hurt that bad. It felt as if my heart was tearing apart more and more with each beat it emitted. I clutched at it and felt my knees give out. I slowly slid to the ground, the rough brick catching on my shirt. I buried my hands in my hair and leaned my head on my knees.
“Lexi,” I heard a voice call. “Lexi!”
I knew the deep octave belonged to him, but I couldn’t run. I felt as if all my strength had been drained. His feet crunched on the dry grass as he bounded up to me.
“Lexi,” he repeated again.
“What do you want!” I shouted at him, the last word breaking on a cry.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Lexi, I’m sorry. I didn’t know–I thought–I’m sorry.”
“Just leave me alone,” I cried.
“Lexi, no. Please, just look at me,” he said, an exasperated note ringing in his voice.
I slowly turned and glared at him. Then I stood, using my full height to try to intimidate him. It would of worked better if he weren’t so tall.
“What do you want,” I repeated, spitting each word out like a curse.
He didn’t respond. Instead, he took a step toward me and wiped a tear from my cheek.
“Your lip is quivering,” he whispered. His hand lingered on my cheek, warm against the frigid February air. I didn’t trust myself to speak. “That girl was helping me,” he said softly. “She was showing me how to kiss. How to kiss someone I really like,” his voice was low, rasping. “I don’t count it as my first.” Then he leaned down and pressed his lips against mine, parting them with his own. We were kissing. Oh, God, thank you, I thought. It was heaven. Pure bliss. I wrapped my arms around his neck and stood on tiptoe, and his own arms settled around my waist, cupping my bottom in his large palms. Our bodies pressed against one another, melting into each other, and the kisses became heated. His tongue pressed against mine. Mine pressed his, hard. His lips were rough and hard on my own, and I willingly gave into him as he held and caressed me.
Then he pulled back. I gasped for air and leaned in, hungry for more, but he paused. “I love you, Lexi. Since seventh grade,” breathed my only puppy love.
This is real life.
Everybody likes to hear great love stories. This is mainly because they are stories of joy and happiness. They inspire so much hope to people who have not yet found love. Love stories have been told for many years and all generations have their very own set of stories. All cultures will have some form of stories that are used not just to inspire hope but, to educate and teach. Love stories can be conveyed in 3 ways which include the following. They can be told orally or by word of mouth, they can be written down as literature to be read by people or they can be acted and viewed as television programs. For this reason, good love stories make for great sales and they are popular not just for their value but, for the capital they can earn. When you are dating or planning to date, you need a good love story to give you the morale you need. If you are going through a matchmaker, you need to know that there are stories of success that you can identify with to give you hope.
Love 