Feels like a Dream...

That day.

Y'know, some people aren't meant to be your friend.

a/n what happened

I walk into the guidance counselor's office, the atmosphere heavy with a sense of foreboding. I was told to come here, but no one told me why. As I step inside, I'm greeted by the sight of both the principal and the guidance counselor, both of whom are seated and waiting for me. I feel a knot form in my stomach, but I push it down and take a seat, trying to keep my expression neutral.

The principal, Mrs. Reed, leans forward, her expression serious but not unkind. "So, Avery, do you know anything about notes on index cards?" she asks, her tone calm but probing.

I blink, my mind scrambling to make sense of the question. "No," I reply automatically, not really thinking about it. But then it clicks, and I quickly add, "Oh, wait—like, love poems?"

The guidance counselor, Ms. Collins, nods, her eyes softening a bit. "Yes, that's right. Alice mentioned that you shared some poems with her."

I feel a rush of confusion and embarrassment flood through me. "Oh, yeah, I write poems for fun," I explain, my voice a little shaky. "I let my friends read them sometimes. It's nothing serious."

Mrs. Reed's expression doesn't change much, but there's a hint of concern in her eyes. "Well, it seems that Alice got the impression that you might have a crush on her," she says gently, as if trying to ease the blow.

My heart skips a beat. "What? No, I don't... I never meant for her to think that," I stammer, feeling my cheeks heat up. "I'm sorry if I made her uncomfortable."

Ms. Collins steps in, her voice reassuring. "It's okay, Avery. We just wanted to make sure everyone was comfortable. It’s not about who the poems were for or even about your orientation. We support you no matter what. But we needed to address how Alice was feeling."

I nod, swallowing hard. "I understand. I'm really sorry."

Mrs. Reed offers a small smile. "Thank you, Avery. You can go now."

"Okay. Thanks. Bye," I mumble, getting up quickly. I leave the office, my mind spinning with everything that just happened.

That was the moment everything started to unravel. All because of my stupid love for poems.

After that day—my birthday, October 2nd, 2023—things changed. A lot.

I can't help but wonder how different things might be if that conversation had never happened. What if I had just kept those poems to myself?

a/n: I never got my poems back, either. I worked hard on those. I'll share the ones I wrote after all this mess.

-ave-wavee out

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