The Only One

The Beginning

-1-

The year was 2011. I was recovering from a very extreme haircut that everybody assured me suited me perfectly. Some people even insisted that I looked my best with short hair.

I was still adjusting after a three-week "exchange" to the States that had left me convinced that my place in the world was not Bogota. I was also trying to embrace my body, even though body positivity wasn't really a thing and I wasn't into exercise.

My grades were good in the subjects that mattered to me: English, Spanish, History and Philosophy, and sucked in the ones that didn't: Math, Chemistry and Physics. Oddly enough, I did really well in Biology. Julieta and Dalia, on the other hand, were basketball geniuses, and did amazingly at school in every single subject.

Basically, I was their less athletic, less intelligent best friend. On the plus side, I've always been funny, not the kind of funny that guys find attractive, but the funny that gets people to like you and listen to you when you talk. People even expected me to talk, and that has always made me feel like I'm entitled to the last word. I've always loved talking, I'm often told that I talk too much, but that's not something I plan to change anytime soon.

The thing is, I've rewritten this story many times, maybe fearing that you'll read it, and trying to be as accurate as possible so as to get you to fall in love with me, with my words. But in doing so, I've filled pages with euphemisms and clichés, and even if I consider myself a walking cliché, I think this story deserves better.

I mean, I had a lot going on as it was when I was seventeen, at least I deserve a well-written story of my teenage years, don't you think? Here's my attempt at it.

From pre-k until I graduated, I attended an all-girls school. Now, although I don't agree with this, my sister (who didn't graduate from my school) believes that studying with no boys makes girls boy-crazy. I don't agree with her idea, but sadly I have to admit that seventeen-year-old Luciana Tavares was indeed boy crazy.

I was one of those girls who fell for basically every guy who treated them well. It was sad, yes, but I don't think I was needy. I don't think my attraction stemmed from a desire to be with someone; I liked having a crush on someone because I enjoyed the way that made me feel, and so I developed tons of crushes, on men between the ages of seventeen and thirty something.

Nothing happened with any of them, though, remember that I was awkward and hadn't figured out how to properly love myself. I think my lack of knowledge in makeup and low confidence levels also contributed to my poor love life, and yes, I know that's superficial, but love and relationships at seventeen often are.

If I'm being honest here, after years of (over)analyzing my teenage self I have to admit that my personality wasn't even that interesting. So it wasn't like a guy would ignore my physical features and fall in love with what was inside.

You might not know this, but I'm an avid reader. I'm always reading a book, either in Spanish or in English. I have two e-readers and my bookshelves are full, I'm even thinking of making an expansion. I read most genres but I mostly read love stories. When I was seventeen I read so many love stories I ended up believing I deserved to be the protagonist of one. Man, that sounds sad and oh, so accurate.

That doesn't mean that I used you as an excuse to create this novel in my head and play it out in real life. I was a dreamer, but I've never been dumb.

Now, I've tried to remember how and when we both first met, but you'd be surprised to find out that I can't. I mean, obviously we met in school, and it must have been when I was a junior, but other than that, I have no clue. Again, here I could write the perfect scene, I can even create the memory in my head.