“But when I’m asleep, I want somebody, who will put their arms around and kiss me... tenderly.” Depeche Mode, ‘Somebody’

     There was this girl in my English class, Brittany Chaney. She really knocked me out. It’s hard to explain, though. I mean, she wasn't strictly beautiful, like those girls who wear a lot of make-up. I just liked the way she looked. For instance, she had this wild hairstyle that made her look so pretty. Most girls have very boring, straight hair, that just hangs around their shoulders. Her hair killed me though. It was usually put up around her head, like a tiara, and it was sort of curly. Another thing that killed me about her, she always looked at the ground when she was walking, with her head bowed and all. I can’t exactly explain why I liked that. It was just unusual. If you want to know the truth, I like unusual girls the best.

     The real reason she interested me, though, was that she seemed so nice. I never saw her get mad at anyone; not as mad as most people do, anyhow. Every time I saw her, she had this terrific smile on her face. I’m not kidding. Every time. I could look at her smile all day and all night long. I really could. I mean, if a girl has a great smile, it makes her about ten times more beautiful than make-up ever could.

     Not that I knew her intimately, or anything. I desperately wanted to, but I couldn’t work up the courage to talk to her. I even sat by her in English, for Chrissake, and I still couldn’t manage to say one crumby word. Not even “hello”. E.F. Kennedy. Eric Faintheart Kennedy.

     My friend Dave encouraged me to talk to her, though. What a pal Dave was. He really was. I felt so depressed, in fact, because here he was, trying to help me not be a coward, and I kept letting him down. Every day, I would go to English planning to talk to her, but then I lost my nerve as soon as I saw her. Boy, Dave was really disappointed with me. I don’t blame him.

     So what I finally did was, I came up with the perfect plan. We were doing poetry in English, so I figured I'd ask to read her poem, and I'd let her read mine. That way, we’d have a reason to talk. Dave and I got pretty excited about the idea. He even patted me on the shoulder right before I went to English class. And not one of those pats where the person thinks they’re a pansy if they don’t break your shoulder. You could tell he really wished me good luck. I felt so happy that day, before English.

     Then I got in such a big mess, I don’t even like to talk about it. What happened first, she was absent from school that day, so naturally I couldn’t show her my poem. I wasn’t going to commit suicide over that, though. I figured I’d just wait until our next class. Then, when the next class came around, I had the worst break in years: we changed seats. Right at the start of class, too. Boy, was I depressed. I kept thinking of how I had missed the perfect opportunity to talk to her, and all because I was a coward. It nearly drove me crazy.

     I was in pretty lousy shape for a while after that. I couldn’t get in the mood to do anything. I’d just get home from school, and lie in my bed all day. It was terrible. When I mope, I really mope. I don’t even make plans to do anything with my friends, because I don’t want to interrupt my moping. It sure didn’t do anything for my courage, either; because after that, I found out she rode my bus, and I still couldn’t strike up a conversation with her.

     I actually stopped feeling depressed for a while, though, because I got another great idea. We were making Christmas cards in my French class, so I figured I’d make Brittany one. Then I had to do something really crazy: I wrote “I love you”, on the card. I swear I’m a madman.

     I still gave her the card, though, just to see what she’d do. Actually, she didn’t do anything. That made me feel even more depressed. Of course, I’m not sure what I expected her to do. Maybe I thought it’d be like the movies: she’d say that she loved me, and I’d be happy for the rest of my life. It’s corny, I know. The movies can really ruin your mind.

     Recently, though, I made a pact with Dave. I promised I’d talk to her on the bus. I wasn’t crazy about letting Dave down again, so I actually did it. Nervous as hell, but I did it. I tried to explain about the Christmas card, and how I was acting like a fool when I made it, but my voice was so shaky, and I hardly didn’t know what I was saying. What a jerk I was. At least I didn’t disappoint Dave again. That made me sort of happy.

     The funny thing is, I’m not sure if I really love Brittany. I think I do, but I don’t really know her well enough to be sure. I think she’s beautiful and all, and I want to get to know her. I really do. But what if I’m just annoying hell out of her? I get pretty run down thinking about it, if you want to know the truth. God, she has the kindest face I’ve ever seen, though. It makes me so happy just gazing at her. You never saw a girl who smiled so much. She’s very intelligent, too. I know, because I saw this U.S. History research project she did. It really knocked me out. I mean, she didn’t choose some boring topic; you could tell it really interested her. I got so happy reading it. In fact, everything she does makes me happy; I get near bawling. I can’t exactly explain it, and I’m not sure I’d want to if I could. I swear to god I’ll never understand love.