Baby, I Think I've Lost My Mind

Oh, No, Here We Go

It was another day of rehearsal for us Warblers, just in the midst of September. Rehearsal was usually just dancing, dancing, and yes, more dancing, but today was different—different as in “we were getting a new addition” different. His name started with a “G," and I have to admit, I forgot his name a couple seconds after I was told; but hey, I did remember that he was going to be playing the Warblers’ new captain, Sebastian Smythe. Apparently, he was running late so that meant that the rest of us had time to kill.

I grabbed my phone and mindlessly looked through the tweets that I had been mentioned in, and let me tell you, there were a lot. Some were ridiculous, while others were just…never mind, they were all pretty much ridiculous. I was about to open some stupid game that Rocky downloaded onto my phone when the door of the dance studio burst open. I was surprised that the force of the door didn’t leave a dent on the wall.

My head snapped up towards the cause of that loud sound.

And then…

I saw him.

He ran into the room, and it suddenly felt ten degrees hotter. My eyes trailed up his long legs and his toned torso was perfectly hugged by a flannel shirt with a matching solid blue underneath it. Suddenly, I felt like the wind was knocked out of my chest when my gaze reached his face. Damn…

I didn’t know what had gotten into me, but in that moment, I felt this weird shift inside of me. I couldn’t place what it exactly was. This warm sensation filled my insides, leaving my stomach all tingly. I almost thought that that tingling feeling was just the butterflies fluttering around, but that didn’t make sense.

Could a guy I never even met yet really induce the feeling of butterflies in my stomach?

Fucking hell. I am not going to answer that.

I shook myself out of my thoughts to realize just in time that the new guy was walking towards me. He had this (perfect) smile on his face, and I was pretty sure that smile could end wars and cure every disease known to man. My insides felt like they were going to melt just knowing that that smile was directed at me-

Holy fuck. I did not just turn into a thirteen-year-old fangirl. This kind of behavior should be expected from an actual thirteen-year-old fangirl; not a fucking nineteen-year-old man. I was turning twenty this year, damn it. I’m finally getting away from these “teen” numbers.

“Hey, I’m Grant, and I guess I’ll be playing your new captain,” Grant said with that beautiful smile of his. Fuck. He’s speaking. Shit fuck. Say something, Riker.

“Hi,” I finally mustered up, trying my hardest not to look too star-struck, but seriously? That’s all you could say, Riker? A fucking hi. You could be shy, but not this shy, and especially not around boys.

I could see that Grant was chuckling, and I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. But wait- what is he chuckling about? Nothing funny really happened. Is there something on my face? Oh, shit. Please tell me there isn’t broccoli in my teeth? Wait, what- I don’t even like broccoli.

I almost missed it when Grant’s hazel-green eyes quickly glanced down, and it was then that I realized that he had his hand sticking out and I was just staring at him the whole time. Oh, great. He’s going to think I’m an anti-social freak that doesn’t know a thing about greeting people. Quick! Riker, just fucking do something!

I quickly reached out, coughing slightly to hide my awkwardness—though, it was too late for that now—and took Grant’s hand in mine. His grip was firm and strong, and wow, muscles…

Riker, stop, you’re getting distracted again. Eyes up on Grant’s face now.

I look up only to see that Grant was still smiling at me as if he never noticed how awkward I was, and that took me aback for a moment. He was acting like I wasn’t just blatantly staring at his arms, and I couldn’t have been more grateful.

Our hands parted after the short moment they were together. I didn’t like the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. It was like how your stomach would just tie up in knots because of a bad case of stage fright; but right now, that didn’t seem to be the case. For one thing, I had gotten over my stage fright at a rather young age, and secondly, I wasn’t nervous because I had to perform a song; I was nervous because of a boy. I just didn’t know what it meant, and it confused the hell out of me.

I was straight. I’ve always known that I was straight. One boy couldn’t just change that…could he?

No, no, nope. I am straight, and that’s all there is to it.

When rehearsal started, I soon learned that it was hard to keep my eyes away from none other than Grant Gustin. It wasn’t like it was my fault. He was a pretty good dancer (Someone did mention that he was in a production of West Side Story before he was casted on Glee.) and as a dancer myself, I couldn’t bring myself to look away.

Okay, that might have been an excuse. Along with these weird feelings I was having, I noticed how great Grant’s ass looked in his jeans, and I’ve never noticed how guys’ asses looked in jeans—except if the ass and the jeans were mine.

Rehearsal went on for a couple more hours, but it seemed like it was never going to end. The choreographers just kept insisting over and over that we needed to have everything polished by Friday (It was Tuesday.) because the whole cast was going to start filming the following week. That didn’t seem to put more pressure on us. No, not at all…

By the time rehearsal was over, I somehow merged myself into a group of Warblers that included Curt, Dom, Titus, and…Grant. It was 36TD plus a G. The "3" of the whole group proposed that we should all go out to get to know Grant better, but Curt’s idea of going out meant that we had to go to a bar like usual. All of them agreed to go except for me. I, being a mere nineteen-year-old, two years under the legal drinking age—although, I’ve already had a few sips of wine courtesy of my parents—had to decline the offer. When I told the group my predicament, I saw, just in time, the way Grant’s face fell just a tad bit.

During the drive back home, I kept replaying that moment over and over again. Why did he look so disappointed? Was Grant really hoping that I could go? Did he want me to stay?

When I arrived, I was bombarded with questions about my day; like the usual mishap that happened in the Lynch household. Dinner was then served, and I was more preoccupied than ever by the thought of missing the chance to hang out with Grant. I was asked more than was necessary if I was okay, but the same reply would be spoken in return: “Yeah. Just tired.” Hey, that’s a pretty legit answer. I was at dance rehearsal for five hours straight.

After dinner, I skipped out on playing videogames with my brothers—I wasn’t very good at them anyway—with the same “tired” excuse. I changed into pajamas and climbed into bed, staying up for what seemed like hours with the same question bouncing around in my head:

Am I attracted to Grant Gustin?

But I already knew the answer to that: I don’t even fucking know.