This is Sam. Was there ever any question? Everyone wanted him from seventh grade on, and you weren't strong enough to fight something like that. You might have pretended not to care senior year when the alphabet conspired to make you lab partners in physics, maybe you publicly shrugged off the well-known fact that he called you every Sunday afternoon to double-check what the homework had been, but inside you were turning cartwheels and screaming at the top of your lungs. You taught yourself how to wear eyeliner, in case he liked it. You started wearing skirts more. Other boys started to notice (and you noticed them noticing) but never Sam. But then there was the party after graduation, someone's backyard had a bonfire and a keg, and you're pretty sure you were both pretending to be drunker than you really were. One kiss. He tasted like beer and toothpaste. No one saw.
(Image: Chace Crawford (!) by Alexi Lubomirski)
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