You probably remember me as the girl who made your life hell. I know what people called me behind my back—mean girl, queen of cruel, high school nightmare. But the truth? The truth is way more pathetic than that.

I’ve been in love with you since the Third grade.

Yeah. That long.

I still remember the first time I saw you. You had this ridiculous dinosaur lunchbox and a gap between your front teeth. You laughed like you didn’t care who heard it. I hated how easy it looked for you to just be. And I loved it, too. Even then.

But I was already the loud one. The sarcastic one. My dad used to say being soft got you stepped on. So I sharpened my tongue early, learned to punch before anyone could punch first. And with you... I don’t know. You made me nervous. So I made you small instead.

I teased you about your shoes. Your haircut. That time you cried in gym class. I pushed your buttons until you avoided me in hallways and kept your eyes down in class. I remember every time I made you flinch—and hated myself afterward. But the next day, I’d do it again.

Because what was I supposed to do? Admit I liked you? That when you spoke in class, I listened harder? That when you wore that blue hoodie, I wanted to sit next to you and say something real?

Nah. I called you names instead. I made other people laugh at your expense. You never laughed.

High school only made it worse. You started growing into yourself—your smile got steadier, your voice deeper, and suddenly people saw you. Liked you. And I... panicked. If I couldn’t have you, I sure as hell didn’t want anyone else to. So I kept being awful. It was the only way I knew how to stay close.

Now it’s senior year and I watch you from across the cafeteria like some cliché. You don’t even look at me anymore—not unless I’ve said something cruel again. Which I always regret. Which I always do anyway.

*God, I’m such a coward.

If I had one chance to go back, I’d stop the first time I said something mean. I’d sit next to you and ask about your stupid dinosaur lunchbox. I’d say what I really felt.

But here I am. Watching you laugh with your friends. Wishing I’d been brave enough to be kind.

Maybe one day I’ll tell you the truth.

But I doubt you’ll want to hear it.