A/N (important): This isn't really a story. Well, it is, but not really. It's more like a letter. I'm not even expecting any reviews for this pathetic thing because it wasn't written for people to read it and be impressed by the fabulous writing skills. It had been written for the sole purpose of venting my feelings and thoughts onto paper. If I were to write an actual letter this would be how I'd write it. It's entirely casual-ish, using language I would use in real life. I didn't intend to post this on fictionpress.

Because, for the most part, this is based on a true story, a real situation I was put in. I say 'for the most part' because the letter/story drags through college, and I'm still in high school. I made up an ending. So I never wanted to let people read this. But when I typed it up, it seemed far too melodramatic and, surprising of me, cliché. Hence the title. So I decided, why not? I went against my morals and turned it into a story. It seems like your typical, boring, fake teen love story. Which it kind of is. If you don't like it, say whatever you like. Tell me I'm stupid, crazy, obsessive, blah blah blah. This is the teen side of me writing, the side most people I speak to don't know about. Respond however you like, or don't say anything at all.

How Cliché

By: Entrancia

Part 1: Fifth Grade

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I remember when I arrived at your school. Mine had closed down and I was disinclined to go to yours, instead pulling my parents in the direction of the other expensive parochial school six blocks away from my house.

But then I would have never met you, huh? Well, I would have, but that will come up later.

I can picture that first day in my head vividly. I was standing propped up against the brick wall of the hundred year old school, my hands clasped shyly in front of me, hair in innocent pigtails. I recall seeing you hovering nearby with a group of your rowdy guy friends. One of them gestured his elbow in my direction, obviously catching the scared rabbit look of a fresh, new student. And indeed, I was terrified.

When I entered the classroom, the desks had been pushed into groups of four. Great, I remember thinking. Now I get to sit all by my lonesome.

I knew only one other student, a wiry boy named Billy from my previous school. We weren’t exactly chummy—in fact, we were close to enemies—but it was a comfort to see a familiar face, so we sat together. There was one other person at that group. It was you.

Oh, you were so adorable back then. So small and cute and huggable and—

Mysterious.

You were quiet, I soon learned. You didn’t speak often, only giving one-word replies if addressed. But I discovered that I liked your voice. It was a little deep for your tiny, ten year old frame. And I yearned to hear it. So I tried to talk to you, initiating conversations just to hear you speak. Despite your seemingly solemn demeanor, almost every word that you uttered was meant to make me laugh. I had always been a serious person, so this probably was the one quality of yours that made me fall for you, bit by bit. No one else ever tried to make the somber girl laugh. I always smiled on my own. But you had made the effort. That was enough to earn my friendship.

Strangely, I didn’t particularly feel attracted to you. I liked your best friend. And honestly, flipping through my diary from that year, I don’t know why; that guy was such a degenerate. I think it was just because he was cute. That’s all, I guess. Back then, I didn’t know the difference between an attraction to someone’s looks, and an attraction to someone’s soul. I know better now.

Ah, fifth grade. I was innocent, intelligent, and at least vaguely pretty, I’m assuming. That probably explained why, out of the nine boys in that class, five of them had adorable schoolboy crushes on me. One of those boys was you.

How did I find out? Wanting to know more about me, you told my best friend, who informed me. Another friend, one of the boys who liked me, told me himself.

I should have known. It was so obvious. You always eagerly welcomed me into your group of boys, your face lighting up with a rare smile. I smiled back, but I meant it in a friendly way, simply overjoyed that I wasn’t excluded. I was quite the little tomboy, always wanting to be one of the guys. Out of all the girls in that class, you paid the most attention to me, a newcomer, rather than the ones you were familiar with since kindergarten. You cracked jokes. You were clumsy around me. You made me vice-president of the club you and several friends formed, even though it was obvious that I was suited for the position of secretary. I used to tease you about your height. Whenever it was time for class pictures, the photographer always had issues lining the two of us up by height, because we were the exact same size. You liked to think that you were taller. It was so cute.

All these telltale signs... and I had brushed them off as nothing. God, I was an idiot.

That was the best school year I had ever experienced. The entire fifth grade class was one big family. We all loved—or at least tolerated—one another. No fights, no arguments, no rivalries. The teacher was wonderful, always able to whip up engaging activities for us to do. But best of all, I met you, a true friend. And I didn't realize it.

However, the story does not end there, with us being happily-ever-after-friends-forever. We weren’t even close friends yet. And this was clearly not the year I became infatuated with you. It began the following year. Sixth grade. Where the drama weaved in.