Does she like me? The question is better yet described by the swirling of the stomach, the churning, pulling ache of joy and anxiety that comes with this need for companionship. This comes to all young people as they experience that feeling, the joyful exhilaration, of that first crush. That awkward, I want you, yet… All ending in, does she like me?

My real day began with my phone buzzing, and I grabbed it, shaking, hoping, it was from her. Her smell drifts into my memory, and I inhale it. I miss her the second she leaves me. I press the power button, the pads of my fingers seeing her skinny shoulders as I poked her. I see the familiar shapes and characters of her name, and I race to swipe down my screen. She is asking me if I can sleep over.

My palms get sweaty, and I close my eyes, and puff out my cheeks, blowing in and out like a drunken puffer fish. I have to calm down. I don’t have the words to tell her how I feel. I will try, even if it’s all I can do. Subtlety is my downfall. I will ask for help, write a song, try and survive the thought that she might say no, that she does not like me back. I swallow that stale lump and force myself to imagine that nail biting, hot cocoa crying session, as a possibility. I could move on. I can get over her, if she wants me to.