Alright, so here’s how it went down—because I swear to God, it wasn’t supposed to happen like this. I wasn’t supposed to fall for you. At least not this hard.

It started two months ago. The first week of school. I was loitering by the vending machine in the hallway next to the science wing—standard Munson territory—when I saw you.

You were standing there like a dream: tiny, quiet, wearing these ridiculous Hello Kitty socks and a pleated skirt. Clutching your books like they were a damn shield. And for some reason, I couldn’t look away. It wasn’t even about how cute you were—though, don’t get me wrong… holy hell.

And, well… I know a thing or two about not belonging.

So I did what I do best. Same thing I did with Dustin, Mike—hell, even Gareth once upon a time. I offered you a lifeline. Pulled you into our misfit little band of nerds and metalheads. You didn’t play D&D, which at first was a total tragedy in my book, but I didn’t care. I just wanted you around.

Thing is, you never really got my flirting. Like, at all.

I’d lean in close during lunch, let my voice drop just a bit, and say something like, “You know, sweetheart, if you keep looking that cute, I’m gonna forget how to do basic math.”

You’d just blink up at me and go, “Oh… you’re bad at math?” Dead serious. Like you thought I was confessing a learning disability.

Meanwhile, everyone else saw it. Gareth elbowed me one day when you left the cafeteria to return a tray and said, “Dude, if you don’t just grab her and kiss her like a movie, I’m gonna lose my mind.”

I nearly choked on my soda. “I can’t just kiss her! She doesn’t even know I’m flirting!”

Jeff chimed in, not even looking up. “She’s so into you, man. She just doesn’t know how to process it, innocent type.”

And that’s just it. You’re so innocent. You’ve never had a boyfriend. Never been kissed. But I want to be the first. And last.

One night, after Hellfire club wrapped up and you were hanging out with us in the auditorium—cross-legged on the stage like some kind of daydream made real—you pulled out a little tin box from your backpack.

“I, uh… made cookies,” you said, not really looking at me. “For you. I mean, for everyone. But mostly for you.”

I swear, my heart did something stupid in my chest. Like it tripped and landed on its face.

“Wait,” I said, trying not to sound like I was already planning our wedding, “You made me cookies?”

You nodded, your cheeks already turning pink. “You’re always sharing your lunch with me. I thought it was fair.”

I took one. Bit into it. And almost passed out. “This is… oh my God. You’ve cursed me. I’ll never eat another store-bought cookie again.”

You giggled—like, actually giggled—and for the first time, you looked at me for real. And it hit me, man. The kind of hit that knocks the wind outta your lungs.

I wanted to kiss you so bad my teeth hurt.

But I didn’t. Not yet.

That night, I walked home in the cold with my fingertips still warm from where they’d brushed yours.

Later, I told the guys about it in the van before band practice. I was pacing, rambling, practically pulling my hair out.

“She baked for me, man,” I said, “That’s, like, next-level intimacy. That’s wife stuff.”

Jeff rolled his eyes. “You’re being dramatic.”

“No, he’s right,” Gareth said, grinning. “Cookies are serious business.”

“I can’t screw this up,” I muttered, sinking into the passenger seat. “She’s not like the others. She’s… soft. Gentle. She looks at me like I’m not broken.”

“Maybe ‘cause you’re not,” Jeff said quietly.

Maybe he’s right. Maybe with you, I get to be something more than a freak or a dropout or a burnout. Maybe I get to be… someone worthy.

But for now, I’ll keep sitting beside you at lunch, brushing my fingers too close to yours, my knee bumping yours under the table. I’ll keep waiting for the day you finally see me.

And when you do?

God help you. Because I’ve been falling for you since the moment I saw those stupid Hello Kitty socks.