The boy you would fall in love with would be irrelevant. You wouldn't notice him at first. He'd be average, maybe with some small quirk, but still pretty average. Taller than the others but he wouldn't speak to you until he was spoken to first. Even then, his responses would come out in an incomprehensible staccato. In the lunchroom, he would sit with his friends, sharing a laugh over SNL that past weekend or something else you wouldn't be interested in. You just wouldn't notice.

But one day he would become relevant: His clean-cut hair and his favorite pink pants he'd wear all the time, his big nose, his lack of posture, his stupid bushy eyebrows.

It would hit you and it would knock you right on to your fucking back wishing you were on your back in a different situation with him involved. He'd become all you ever thought about.

You'd imagine him fucking you on the floor of his living room while you both prayed not to get caught by his parents. You'd daydream about him wrapping his slender arms around you as you stood in the kitchen humming your favorite song, you would never tell anyone about this though. They wouldn't understand and you'd be made fun of.

So you'd keep all these little scenarios between yourself and your four walls who you'd spill your secrets to in the form of crying his name out when you came.