Falling In

i. Not the Best Start

I don’t remember how I fell in love with you, but I do remember when.

It started with you being somewhere on my non-hate list. I didn’t like you, but I didn’t dislike you. Neutrality. Back then, it was the highest ranking for a girl. And then I’d catch my eyes drifting toward you whenever I spaced out, and at first you kept your gaze firmly down, avoiding me. But then, after a while, I’d catch you staring back at me. Confused and slightly irritated. Yes, I could tell. 

Not the best start. 

But then it became me saying ‘hello’ to you in class. But we didn’t get beyond that—never anything interesting, at least, just conversations about homework or something more superficial. I always wanted to say more, but there was always somebody else with you demanding your attention. 

People loved it when you listened to them—I swear, when somebody finds out news (good or bad) the first person they run to tell is you. Because you’re that kind of person.

And then it became me falling into step with you in the hallway. Before, we’d keep to our different sides of the hallways, avoiding each other’s gazes. Even if there was no one else in the hallway. The awkwardness swallowed us up. To be honest, I shouldn’t have been near you—my classes were in completely different wings. Does it seem weird if I admit that I went on detours to be near you? Yeah, it does. But listen, it wasn’t in the slightest way demeaning to you. I just kind of wanted to be near you, you know? Probably isn’t the first time you’ve heard it, either; people really love being around you. 

And then it became me memorizing your schedule without knowing it, just to be around you. I’d walk you to class—I’m not sure how that happened, but it somehow did—and then I’d turn around and flat-out sprint back to class, sometimes up two flights of stairs, before the bell rang. Sometimes I didn’t make it, but usually I arrived a split second before the bell. And then I’d sprint back after class to be at your classroom door. Looking back, it was a pretty bizarre thing to do. My friends gave me hell for it, but it was always worth it.

Then it became me walking you home, too. I don’t know how. We didn’t live in the same neighborhood or anything, but they were within walking distance. So when you explained that your Mom had overprotection issues and refused to let you walk home alone, I volunteered. I still remember that look of astonishment—I don’t know, had you not expected it? And I’d been worried about being too obvious—about whatever it is I was worried about you knowing about. But you agreed, so I’d walk you home after school, then race back in time for soccer practice. I returned sweating and thoroughly scorched by the sun, but at least I didn’t have to warm up. It was worth it—we never got a chance to talk during the day, and those ten minutes were enough. I still remember some of the odd things we talked about—sometimes when my mind drifted in soccer practice I’d start replaying conversations in my head. And then Jake’s voice would burst into my head like thunder. 

It wasn’t like you took over my head, though. I thought about other things too. 

Just not so frequently.