For the first time, probably ever, I walk into school with my head held high. An air of confidence surrounding me that seems to have formed over night. Instead of cowering away from the large masses of jocks or cheerleaders, I pull my backpack higher and breeze right past them.

I am feeling good. And it’s all thanks to you.

You are…perfect. It’s the only way to describe you, and it still doesn’t come close. Smart, witty, beautiful, talented; you’re everything a guy could ever want. The most popular girl in school. And you chose me. The nobody. The outcast. The boy whose head has been shoved in more lockers than he’d like to admit. The “nerd”.

Lord know what it is about me that you seem to have taking a liking to, but I won’t complain, and I definitely won’t question it. It might make you realize that you could do way better. And I can’t risk that.

We’ve been going out for about 4 months now, which is mind boggling in itself. You’ve, a little shamefully, been my first everything. After our third date, you were my first kiss. On our one month anniversary, you became the owner of the first breasts I’ve ever seen and touched. And that same night, you gave me my first handy. God, what a night that was.

But, last night… Oh, man. It trumps it all. On our 4 month anniversary you were my first. It was the best 27 seconds of my life. I genuinely feel like a changed man. More sure of myself and breezy, if you will. You gave me, not only yourself, but a whole new perspective as well. And for that, I’m eternally grateful.

I don’t even think twice about the stares I’m getting in the hallway anymore. Or the quiet laughs as I pass… Or the whispers… Or… Or…

What the hell?

Is it just me or is everyone staring at me right now? All the hidden murmurs to each other that seem to be centered around me. It’s anxiety inducing. And it’s real. No, this isn’t a nightmare. They’re all talking about me. Why? What did I do this time? What’s going on?

“I heard she felt so bad for him because he gets picked on, and that’s why they did it…”

“I heard he gave her answers to the final for it…”

“I heard it’s all a bet. She made like $100 for it. Poor girl, I would’ve asked for more…”

All the comments, theories, horrible things they’re saying get to me. It eats me alive. I can feel each syllable hitting my skin like bullets. So, I run. Racing through the halls, picking up on tidbits and laughter as I pass. They’re all talking about it—about what we did last night. And there’s only one person who could’ve spread it.

You stand at your locker, your back turned to me as you exchange books. I slam it closed in my wake, not even caring to take into account the scene I’m making.

“Harry, what the—?”

“How could you?!” I practically growl, not wanting to yell, even though everyone is already watching. “I trusted you! I- I gave you all of me! I loved you—and I thought you did too!” I try to keep the waver out of my voice, but it’s a losing battle. “I would’ve n-never done s-something like this to y-you…”