I think I'm sick

I think I'm sick.

Symptoms? Shortness of breath, shakiness, increased heart rate, possible fainting, daydreams, and even (in extreme cases) loss of feeling in my extremities.

But you wanna know the strange thing?

My symptoms only occur when I'm around this one specific person. Sometimes it's only one thing, like all of a sudden I can't feel my fingertips or I feel a little jittery.

Or sometimes I get the symptoms all together and it ends when I collapse without warning.

Sounds terrible, right?

I must have some type of cancer.

I've never seen a doctor about this. But to see a doctor for such a small thing would be pretty stupid.

Maybe I should just get rid of the one who causes my symptoms.

Wow. That made me sound unreasonably wicked. Shall I rephrase that? Or just cut straight to the chase?


Hi. I'm piper. I'm your average every day high school junior with a little sickness people like to call love.

You know, I wish they'd put a big neon pink warning messages in the freshman year handbooks:


But they don't, do they?

If they did, I wouldn't be in this ridiculous position.

Why, you ask?

Oh, it's a long, difficult, and disgusting story.

Let's start back at the beginning, shall we?

In January of 1998, I was a cute little second grader who had just moved to New Jersey about a week after Christmas. I was your typical new kid with butterflies in her tummy cause she's afraid she's not going to make any new friends. As it turns out, there was a girl who just couldn't wait to meet me and be my best friend. Her name was Jessica. There was another girl named Stacy who was also anxiously awaiting my arrival. This big Asian kid threw up all over her after music this one day towards the end of the year.

Is it sad if that's all I really remember about her?

Then, there was Darby.

Darby was like the bitchy cheerleading captain on the high school cheer squad whom nobody likes but everyone wants to be friends with.

Or Regina from mean girls.

Let me remind you that this was second grade.

Darby had a posse. Her right hand man (well, actually, woman) was Jennifer. Jennifer made fun of everyone. Even Darby. She told me that I laughed too much one time at lunch.

Is it really possible to laugh too much?

I thought laughter was the best medicine.

Nick, Darby's other right hand man, was nice though. I think he had a crush on me because he would always ask me to sit with him and Jennifer and Darby (even though they wanted me anywhere else but around them)

But the whole reason for bringing you back to me second grade life is this:

It was my very first crush.

I couldn't, for the life of me, tell you what his name was. And I barely even remember what he looked like. Actually, I don't remember him at all. But I do remember that he has brown hair and a slight gap in his two front teeth. That was my reason for liking him. My stupid, second grade reason. It was the smallest crush ever.

I think his name was Jason. Or Justin.

And so, Jason/Justin was the kick-start to my crush career.

I really wish Jason/Justin didn't exist.

He/he would have saved me a whole lot of emotional scarring.

But this is only the beginning.

September 1999-2001. These are the years I am most embarrassed about because the kid that I crushed on for the entirety of my elementary school life was a compete dork. I moved again between second and third grade, so once again I found myself dreading the no friends butterflies.

However, along came Steven. My second crush.

Who lasted a whole three years.

my best friend (at the time) and I used to have "fights" over which of us Steven liked more. I remember that we had a three-hour phone conversation about how cute we thought he was.

Gag me with a spoon.

Make that a pitchfork.

By the end of fifth grade, I'd realized that Steven just wasn't cool enough for me.

I also realized that he wasn't cool at all.

Then came the ultra-dramatic sixth grade!

Sixth grade was a big change for me. I made new, cooler friends and changed my drab fashion of too-short jeans and baggy t-shirts to tight bellbottom jeans and skinny tops.

I was the shit.

And I was friends with some of the most popular girls in the school.

How? Got me.

My crush? Anthony.

He sat behind me in literacy. I thought he was the cutest thing ever! I wrote his name all over the journal that I kept for about 2 weeks of that year.

Unfortunately, drama overcame my life way back in sixth grade too.

Direct quotation from said journal: "I feel like he's cheating on me cause he acts like he was a crush on me but he flirts big time with all the other girls."

I hardly knew this kid!

He hardly knew me!

Hah. "Big time". I don't know anyone who uses those two words together anymore.

Cassie told me she was going to talk to him and get his screen name.

My reaction? SQUEEE!

But she never really did. She asked him who he liked though, and he told her he didn't like anyone.

At that point in time, not liking anyone was a big deal to me.

How on EARTH could you POSSIBLY not have a crush on someone?!

If someone asked me that question, I'd laugh in their face and say:

"It's easy."

So, as sixth grade drew to a close, I left Anthony behind and entered middle school.

Junior high!

It was not long before I'd found myself a new seventh grade crush.

His name was Anthony too, but he was a lot cooler than the Anthony from sixth grade.

This was the year of the numbers.

When you liked someone, you would take the number of letters in his first name and the number of letters in his last name and then write it all over the binder of your choice. For example, if I had a crush on John(4) Smith(5), I would write 45 all over my history binder in a permanent marker of my choice. Or, if I liked Orlando(7) Bloom(5), I would use the number 75. Or, if I thought Arnold(6) Schwarzenegger(14) was unbelievably attractive (which I don't), I would write 614 all over my German binder.

But, that year passed just like any other year: uneventfully.

I liked Anthony.

Anthony didn't even know I existed.

And so continues my sad life.

Eighth grade wasn't much better.

Only the drama increased massively.

His name was Jordan.

He wasn't too popular, and barely had any female friends, so I figured I had a chance.

But there were a few problems.

Problem #1.

I used to turn around and smile at him every five minutes during history.

Please excuse me while I purge myself in this corner.

This was the year that I thought "if I'm obvious about my crush on him, maybe he'll like me back."

Problem #2.

I found out not long after I started liking him that I was one of three girls who liked him. Me, Megan, and Michelle.

Megan was a friend of mine, and Michelle was a friend of Megan's.

So it was almost like a competition.

Problem #3.

Jordan's ego was bigger than his hair.

He purely enjoyed being liked by 3 girls.

If he'd had his way, he would have dated all three of us.

All at the same time.

Problem #4.

He liked Michelle best.

It's always depressing to lose something. Whether it's a race or a person's affection blanket you've had since you were born, it leaves an empty black hole inside of you.

It's extremely hard to fill that hole too.