Maybe it’s cliche. No, she thinks, staring at you as you awkwardly lower your head as people snicker your way, tugging uncomfortably at your down to earth—wannabe outfit. It’s definitely cliche. You’re the most unpopular person she’s ever met, and poor, and she hates poor people. She prefers, polished, pretty boys, like her boyfriend, Jason Grace. Perfect jock, straight A’s, muscular, popular and overwhelmingly pretty.

Not… whatever’s going on with you, glasses wearing, flannels, guitar playing, lover aesthetic, smoker unpopular freak. And certainly not, a girl.

Drew is effortless. Climbed her own way up the highschool hierarchy. She’ll be damned if this tiny fixation doesn’t go away sooner or later.

She can’t help the way her eyes stray to yours in every way, notice that you actually look pretty cute in your glasses and oversized flannels and graphic Tee’s and than swallow the disgust of having those subconscious thoughts.

“You okay, babe?” Jason is asking, kissing her cheek even, but she can barely hear him over the jarring thoughts that this might be a crush. On a girl. The same gender on her.

Yeah, no way.

She goes through the rest of her week denying and ignoring any thought of you. Even if it fails sometimes.

She makes eye contact with you in P.E as you awkwardly lower the kickball to the ground and pitch it her way. Even from here, she notices how green your eyes are underneath the glasses, it catches her off guard, makes her hit the ball too hard, going upwards and hitting you straight in the face. She gasps as you fall to the ground.

People laugh and fuck, it’s the perfect way to draw more attention to herself. To pull up her phone and start recording, but for reason, as she just stands there, she just feels like an idiot.

She strolls over to you and looks down at you, and sees the blood on your nose.

“Ew.” she huffs and swallows, than quickly says, “get up, freak. People are looking.”