No. You're not. Being the quiet kid with anxiety make it impossible for you to be satisfied. But that's about to change with a certain blonde who you happen to have a project with.
(THERE IS NO ROMANCE HERE, THE READER IS SUGGESTED TO BE AGES 15-18...
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"Tubbo's visiting this weekend." I looked up from packing my school items into my bag, an excited grin immediately crossing my face.
"No way!" Tommy looked just as eager as I was, standing patiently in front of me as I zipped up my bag. "When's he getting here?"
"Right after school tomorrow. We're planning on going to the carnival and riding all the rides and then having a sleepover at mine." My smile started to hurt from how hard it was. "I don't suppose you'll be free tomorrow, will you?"
"I'll be there!" I proclaimed, shoving the backpack over my shoulders. "Are your parents okay with that?"
"Of course they are. Mom's been talking about how much she loves you." We exited the History classroom, walking leisurely to the cafeteria. "She says you're her favorite friend of mine."
"Really?" I felt a sense of pride knowing that Tommy's mom enjoyed having me around. "I'll keep that in mind."
"Stop being so humble, dude." Tommy shoved me away and accidentally knocked me into a boy walking the opposite way of us. I yelped and stumbled back, already feeling like jumping into the void.
"I'm so sorry!" I apologized, feeling worse when I realized this guy was kinda attractive. He only shook his head, a toothy grin replacing the former shock of almost dying via shove.
"It's fine. I wasn't paying attention." Before I could utter another apology, he sent me a calm wave and went on his way.
Face burning and pride slightly curbed, I sent a punch into Tommy's side. He squawked, trying to dodge it. "Tommy! That was embarrassing!"
"No. That was funny." Tommy then received a solid hit in the neck.
---
You look ridiculous.
Standing in front of my bathroom mirror, my mood depleted. The former excitement to meet Tubbo face to face was easily replaced by anxiety and doubt.
God, you look too sloppy. What kind of a person wears a baggy sweater and ripped jeans? What are you trying to be?
My fingers curled around the peach colored sweatshirt I found at a thrift store and my eyes trailed down the ripped jeans, seeing bits of my leg poking. I saw the ugly scars from childhood and felt like gagging.
Am... I really this ugly?
The abrupt and obnoxious banging on my front door made me jump so hard that I knocked over half of the things from my bathroom counter. I was quick to clean it up and run down the stairs, drawstring bag in tow. I ripped open the front door, feeling the thick emotions return to my throat when I saw who was at my door.
