The Crush

High school alone is the hardest part of any teenager's life, but when it gets mixed in with an awkward adolescent's idea of liking someone, life turns into a whirlwind emotional adventure. Like my plate wasn't overflowing already with a chemistry teacher who called me "Crash" (a name I acquired after dropping a beaker during our first lab), a sassy algebra teacher who said that I didn't have the aptitude for the subject, or a French teacher who flirted with the class and laughed at her own jokes. No, I complicated things even further because stupid me fell in love.

It all started one morning at my locker as I fumbled to find the French book I hadn't used in about a month. In the crowded locker bay someone stepped on my toes and, consequently, rammed me into the absolute zenith of high school popularity standing to my right. I accidentally hit Miss Popularity while she attempted to apply lipstick. In the reflection of the three mirrors that hung in her locker, I saw a red smear across her acne-free, rouged cheek. I also saw the image of th...

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...s alive!

Get over it. Half the school doesn't even know you're alive.

I watched his blue Honda Civic race away. With the peel of the tires and the smell of burning rubber, I knew he had gone forever.

Then the pain lifted from my body, like a heavy weight, and was replaced by a feeling of accomplishment and relief. I made it through the grueling torture of a high school crush and lived to tell about it. There existed no class project hard enough or cafeteria food indigestible enough to even compare.
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