The first time I see you, I feel a fluttering in my stomach. I hear someone yell your name, laughing. It is a plain name, and it takes me by surprise when I learn that it is yours. The butterflies in my stomach are ridiculous. I don't know you. People like me aren't weakened on the basis of looks. It's your face. Lips that look hard and soft at the same time, eyes that remind me of a great, powerful cat, and an expression of pure infatuation as you gaze at the girl in front of you. She is prettier than me. She smiles more than I do, and she laughs louder and longer. Lucky you are a good actor. The piano fades away and we are normal students once more rehearsing for a show. And I, as I stand in my position down the front of the stage, can only pray that I don't fall for you as I watch you and our leading lady act out a love story.

You sidle up to me after rehearsal and hold out your hand. I take it, without thinking, as you shake my palm and introduce yourself. As if I don't already know you. You mention a cast get together, ask me if I can come. I try to smile and answer 'I'll try' but the truth is that I can't think straight. From the moment your skin touched mine, I feel the electricity speed up my arm, and I'm under. Hooked. Addicted.

Every now and then you smile at me. For a few foolish, but amazing moments, I believe you feel the same. But then you turn to another girl to greet them, your hands on her hips, your lips on her cheek. They are old friends of yours, and I am a newcomer. We are not that close. And from then on, I treasure every touch, every accidental brush of your arm against mine as we rehearse, every carefree smile, every flicker of your eyes in my direction. Lucky I'm a good actor. No one will ever guess I love you.