Okay, so I know we’re only fourteen. I know I’m about ten pounds overweight, and my hair looks like a bird’s nest when I don’t straighten it. But you told me you like my eyes when they spazzed, and that you liked my hair when it was straight. You also said you liked my hair when it was curly. We’ve been talking for months and have been friends since March, and now you talk to me all the time at camp. But every time you compliment me or give me one of those winning smiles, you immediately walk away and flirt with someone else. I’m almost positive you know how I feel about you. And then today, I’m talking with HER outside of camp, and she tells me you guys went on a date. And that you’re her boyfriend. And she tells me this in front of all of my friends.
All of my best friends. Who KNOW how I feel about you. I bet you don’t know what it’s like, seeing so much pity in five different pairs of eyes. And then for the rest of the day and into the night you have to act like you don’t really care, just so you don’t ruin their fun. And I have to find out about your relationship from her, just in conversation. I like her. But I hate her now. I think she’s really nice, but now you’ve made her a total bitch.
So I guess your heavy flirting and unprovoked compliments meant nothing, because you really were just in love with HER. And now I’m left in the dust. Nothing. Because apparently, I’m just not good enough for you. And now I get to sit home. Single, as I have always been, because no one has ever liked me enough to enter a relationship with me.
You were my only hope of a summer fling, or a summer romance, or even a boyfriend upon entering high school. But now you’ve fled to date a sophomore. And I’m still alone. So now I sit at home, watching romantic comedies and shoving my face with carby foods. And you’re making out with that whore, even when you know there’s so much better out there.
And I’m trying to hold it in. I almost lost it in front of my friends. I want to sob and cry, and after I’ve ended this letter, I most likely will be. You make me hate myself. Because you’ve rejected me, and you’ve taken her instead. And now, because so many people know how I feel about you, I have to take their sympathy when they hear the news. Do you know how that makes me feel? Like SHIT. Utter shit. I don’t even know how I feel about you. I want to hate you, to be over you, SO badly. You have no idea. But all I can think is that I’m in love with you. And I hate my love for you. I just want to curl up in a ball and die.
But I’m strong. I’m going to have to face you Monday, and I’m going to have to face you and her. Together. You will be flirting with her, hugging her, keeping your arm around her when you speak to me, and who the hell knows, you guys might just make out in front of me. And I hate that. It’s a slap in my face. But I have to act like I’m fine. And I have to act like it means nothing to me.
I’m friends with her. She’s probably my only friend who doesn’t know that I love you. But what can I say? “Hey! I’ve been in love with your boyfriend since January!” No. But I just want her to feel how I feel. To get that constant feeling of rejection. And I feel that you’re rejecting me because I’m not good enough. My hair isn’t straight enough; my face is too chubby; my body is too fat; I can’t dance as well as everyone else. Just know, Bobby, that on the inside, you’re destroying me.