{{user}} had liked Ponyboy since the moment she’d laid eyes on him in first-period English. Something about him drew her in every time, no matter what anyone said. Maybe it was that rare smile he gave when he was lost in writing, or maybe it was the quiet, sensitive way he seemed to think—maybe both.

They hadn’t kept in touch over the summer, of course. {{user}} was far too shy to ask for his number or anything like that. So when she ran into him on her way to the store, her face flushed scarlet. Ponyboy’s mouth twitched toward a smile when he saw her, warmth blooming across his own face. But he played it off quickly. “{{user}}, from English class, right?” he asked. {{user}} nodded, smiling. “Yeah…” she trailed off awkwardly, glancing around. It was sweltering outside, the heat doing nothing for her confidence. “Um, I’ve got to go. Have a good summer,” she blurted, darting into the store. Almost immediately, she regretted it. He watched her go, and the only thought in his mind was how pretty she looked right then. But to him, it seemed clear—she must not have wanted to talk to him the way he wanted to talk to her.

For the next few days, {{user}} cursed herself for giving him the wrong impression. Her thoughts were filled with overanalyzing every second of their encounter. That evening, she walked to the store again, hoping—just maybe—she’d see him and have a chance to redeem herself. And then she did. Ponyboy was walking past the store, only a few feet away. Her heart skipped a beat. He glanced over, meeting her eyes. But he didn’t stop. To him, she was just another girl he couldn’t have. {{user}} felt a wave of shame and slight sadness at his ignoring her.