I didn't know the exact moment that I'd fallen in love with Annabeth Collins, but the thing was, I had. I didn't know why like had turned to love, how friendship had blossomed into romance, or when the kid I'd known since we were first-grade babies had magically developed into a first-class babe.
And the other thing was, Annabeth didn't know it, either.
I was sure she had no idea that when she said, 'Hi, Tomlinson,' as she always did, my knees turned to Jell-O. She didn't know what a struggle it was to keep my voice normal when I answered, 'Hi, Collins.'
She didn't know the iron self-control it took to walk her home after school without throwing my arms around her & plastering kisses all over her gorgeous face.
And she certainly showed no desire to plaster my face with kisses. She showed no desire for me whatsoever. I was just good old Louis, best buddy, great sense of humor, zero hunk quotient.
Not knowing what to do with my turbulent feelings, I kept them to myself. I suffered in silence, maintaining the relationship the way it had always been, afraid if I pushed for something closer, I might lose her entirely.
But the situation reached an intolerable level when Annabeth started to date. Other guys. Guys with considerable hunk quotient. Guys who probably weren't afraid to snuggle up to her in the movies, or plaster her face with kisses when they took her home.
Annabeth didn't tell me the gory details, but my imagination ran wild every time she went out with one of them.
At this point I could suffer in silence no longer.
"I can't stand it," I told my closest friend Harry. We were shooting hoops in Harry's driveway. I blew six foul shots in a row. When Harry asked me what was wrong, I blurted out everything.
"Does she know you like her?" Harry asked.
"Like her?" I repeated. "Like her? I don't just 'like' her, Styles. I love her. With a deep, burning, eternal flame of passion."
"That's pretty poetic," Harry replied, impressed. "Why don't you tell her that?"
"I can't tell her that! I can hardly say hello to her without keeling over."
"Then write it. Girls really go for those flowery love letters."
"Write her a love letter?" Even thinking about it made me panicky. "That seems pretty drastic."
"Who's she going out with tonight?"
"Damien Anderson," I answered glumly.
I thought of Damien's meaty arm around Annabeth's slim waist, his nose nuzzling her delicate ear. I closed my eyes as if I could shut out the hideous image. But I couldn't switch off my imagination. My stomach churned, & prickles of sweat broke out on my upper lip.
"I think writing a letter would be a start. Don't you think drastic steps are called for?"
"But what if she laughs in my face?" I asked.
"How can she laugh in your face?" Harry said. "You'll mail her the letter, she'll read it in private, & if she does laugh, you'll never know it."
"But what's the point?" I asked. "To her we're just friends. One mushy letter isn't going to change her mind."
"How do you know?" Harry demanded. "Maybe she feels the same way you do. Maybe she's just waiting for you to make the first move."
"Why would she wait?" I said. "Annabeth was never shy."
"Neither were you until you fell in love with her."
I sighed, "Well, I'll think about it." I headed down the driveway, slumping my shoulders.
