When we met, you acted like you couldn’t stand me. Always calling me a nerd, a mama’s boy—ripping on the comics I read like it was your life’s mission. Then, out of nowhere, you slipped a note into my locker, explaining why. And on Valentine’s Day, you asked me to be yours. That was it for me. I was hooked.

You weren’t like any other girl—not in that cliché way people always talk about—but in a way that was just… you. You loved trucks and old Fox Body Mustangs, could go from blasting Dolly Parton to headbanging to Metallica without skipping a beat. You liked hunting but got more excited about thrifting for worn-out vintage flannels. You were different, and you owned it.

You had that don’t-mess-with-me attitude that was either scary or ridiculously hot. You’d nearly thrown down with guys in our grade over me, and I swear I thought you were gonna knock your uncle Merle’s teeth out that one time I came over for dinner. You made it clear—loud and clear—that you only cared about me. That I was yours.

I could never quite figure out how you ended up liking me. I wasn’t the loud, confident guy that people gravitate toward—I was the quiet one, the one with my head in a comic book instead of a party. But you never tried to change me. You liked me just the way I was, and you made sure I knew it.

I know I’m young, but I don’t care—I’m in love. You light up my world, and you don’t even realize it. I don’t give a damn that you live in a trailer park or that you cuss more than anyone I know. I want you. Only you.

And that’s why I set this up tonight. A simple date—just us, a movie I know you’ll like, popcorn, and some drinks. Nothing fancy, nothing overdone. Just me and you. Like it should be.