Like You Like Me ✔

4

The basketball team was the most successful sports team at St. Mark's, so we strolled down the hallway like we owned the place. I was in my full stride with my boys at my side. I gave the occasional nod to the guys from the football team and flashed my dimpled smile to a few cute girls copping looks at me.

On the surface, I looked like the Damian everyone expected me to be. However, when I caught a glimpse of that orange backpack, butterflies started fluttering in my stomach.

Celia's beautiful, dark brown curls were hanging down past her shoulders. I always preferred her rocking braids, but letting her hair down had the same effect on me. Those big, honey-kissed eyes looked lovely—like always. She wore a loose-fitting black top and pair of blue jeans that weren't even trying to hide those curves. And her light, brown skin still showed signs of being touched by the Cuban sun.

Damn, she's fine.

Celia looked my way once, but then immediately went back to chatting with her fellow volleyball girls. I had a harder time averting my eyes, but I pulled it off without looking obvious. Further down the hall, we passed Rachel, who refused to acknowledge my presence. It made me sweat for a second, but I shrugged it off as her just playing her position.

I really hope she holds up her end of the deal, though.

Most of what went down in class that day blurred together; my mind was on the letter. When it wasn't on that, I was making a conscious effort to make Celia think she was nothing but a fading memory. It took all my will power to look past and through her wherever our paths crossed. In both Math and Chem, I made sure to sit at the front to avoid staring at her.

At lunch, the cafeteria was wild, loud and crowded, so not looking at Celia wasn't an issue—can't stare if you can't see. By the time basketball practice rolled around, I felt emotionally drained. But I knew the court was my main domain where I could easily lose myself in the game. And with the letter secured in my locker, I did just that.

After the practice, it was a Lions tradition to hit up Boston Pizza for supper dressed in our jerseys on the first day of school. But right after hitting the showers, Connor "couldn't find" his jersey and had to head home before meeting the team at the restaurant. Connor and I double-checked his locker to "make sure" he hadn't forgotten it in there. Then I slipped him the letter and went to join the boys.

Just before we sat down to order, I got a text from Connor letting me know Rachel had the letter. Which meant later that night, Celia would be reading something I should have told her a long time ago. My job for the evening was to force myself to eat like my stomach wasn't more knotted than a basketball net. Thankfully, the boys were too busy being rowdy to notice my modest pizza intake.

***

I'm not sure why I thought Celia would respond the next day, but just before falling asleep that night, I had convinced myself she would. But Tuesday showed up, and before I knew it, the sun was setting on Thursday.

By Friday morning, all I knew was that Celia had read the letter; Rachel had apparently sworn it on her dead cat, Scary Spice's grave. Yet, I still felt like pressing X to doubt. I just wanted to know what she thought and was tempted to go ask her myself. But I held back. The secret part about being a secret admirer was a lot harder than I had anticipated.

Things started looking up shortly after I got to school. Connor gave me his signature tilt of the head, and we put some distance between us and the boys.

"You're in, bro," Connor said, fighting back a smile.

"She said she liked it?" I asked, trying to be cool.

"Better," Connor replied. "She wrote you a letter."

My heart skipped a beat. "For real?"

"I kid you not, my guy."

"Wow, okay," I exhaled. "Let's see it."

"Gotta pump the brakes there, bro—mail delivery only happens after school, remember?"

"Right, right. My bad."

"Don't sweat it," Conner gave me a pat on the back. "I'll drop by later. And till then just be cool."

I nodded, and we rejoined the guys.

My whole day was eaten up by thinking about Celia's letter. Being cool about was straight-up torture. More than anything, I was really hoping the phrase "good things come to those who wait" was true. Because part of me wondered if her letter was of the cease and desist variety—hashtag you don't know me like that.

To deal with the waiting issue, I dialled into game mode. The opponent was my anxiety and just like on the court, I had to take things one play at a time. Whenever Celia was around, I acted normal like she wasn't the person running through my mind. Eventually, my patience was rewarded, and I ran out of school hours.

Connor pulled up at my house just before seven. When he set the letter in my hand, it felt surreal. As my fingers went to work, opening the envelope, chills ripped down my spine; I could have sworn I smelled Celia's citrus-scented perfume floating off the page. reading her opening line made me feel warmer than the summer sun.

Dear Romeo,

First of all, I want to thank you for your letter; I thought it was both charming and sweet. It's difficult for me to express how refreshing it is to know guys like you exist. A lot of the boys at St. Mark's are so caught up in their egos that they forget to treat girls like human beings. To them, we're basically trophies to win or abstract status to attain. Needless to say, I'm glad to have found an exception to that tired rule.

But as romantic as receiving letters signed by "Romeo" is, I can't help noticing our situation isn't exactly balanced. For one thing, you know who I am, but I don't know who you are. But, since you took the time to write to me in your handsome handwriting, I'll give you a chance to help me get to know you better. I can't wait to see your next letter, so don't wait too long to send it. Take care, Romeo.

Sincerely,

Your Rosaline

P.S. I've always thought Rosaline was better for Romeo than Juliet.