The Queen of my Disaster

two

First day of school, do you remember?

You dropped your Nintendo DS in the hallway. I was the one who helped you pick it up.

You were really pretty.

Even in a yellow dress.

I used to hate the color. It was too bright, too obvious for me, but when I saw you with that yellow dress, I felt like I had to like it.

You thanked me, and if I remember correctly, your voice was sweet. You seemed unsure though, and your 'thank you' sounded somewhat insincere.

I didn't mind it though. A pretty girl just talked to me.

But when we were kids, boys weren't supposed to hang out with girls and girls weren't supposed to hang out with boys.

According to the rules, though, girls weren't supposed to be as pretty as you.

But I wanted to hang out with you.

And so I called you gross, because that seemed like the most appropriate reaction.

But that was a lie, because you were not gross at all.

You were, in fact, perfect.

I thought it was cool if I called you gross, but then you started to cry.

I didn't know what to do then.

I didn't know anything.

All I knew was that I didn't like it when you cried.

I just wanted to get your attention, so maybe then you would talk to me and I would get to play on your Nintendo DS.

I wish I had gone to someone for help.

But I didn't want to look like I didn't know what to do.

I didn't want to look like an idiot.

Now that I think about it, I don't want people to know that I called you gross and made you cry.

They would probably kill me.

No, they would add that to the list of reasons as to why I'm such a hateful person.

And then they would kill me, and make my death as slow and as painful as possible.

Because after my disaster, everyone, and I mean everyone, hates me.

I just wanted you to myself.