I Want to Live a Cliche

I Want to live a Cliche

He was definitely my type. The moment I walked into high school two years ago and saw him, I made him the definition of my type. He’s the perfect man, because there was no way he was a boy anymore, simply pure man. An italian stallion with the confidence and swagger that made anyone notice. I sure took note of it. I took note of it right away.

Too bad I wasn’t his type. We were exact opposites actually. Everyone said opposites attracted, but there was just one problem. The one thing we had in common was the one reason he’d never be interested in me. A guy, who sits alone in his car in the parking lot, just watching him, like a stalker. 

I rolled down the window and laid my head on my arms which were dangling out the window. I’ll admit it was stupid to still be sitting there after school was already been out for over fifteen minutes. But I did it everyday, so I can grown used to my own stupidity. 

Opening the door, I put a leg out and started to sway back and forth. God really must have spent a couple extra seconds on that beautiful body. Probably cut into his time to create me, but he was worth the sacrifice. 

I glanced at my dash board. Football practice started in forty minutes. How did I know this,  because that’s when he stopped playing catch with his friends and head down to the field, and I went home. I did attempt lingering a couple times, but the other players always gave me the “what the hell are you doing here looks,” so it made me feel a little uneasy. 

“Go deep!” He hurled the ball throw the air to his friend. 

Even his voice made me melt, but that could also be contributed to the heat. I’d turn on my car, but then I look even more stupid. At least if someone asked what I’m doing, I could slam the door, turn on the car, and make up some lame excuse. 

He ran across the open grass and signaled for the ball. “Pass it here.”

Oh how I wanted to. Closing my eyes, I felt so pathetic. I was literally drooling over a guy that probably wouldn’t recognize me even if I told him we went to the same school. I flopped back across the seat and laid there, staring at the ceiling. Wiping the sweat from my forehead, I let out a sigh of frustration. When did I get to be this pathetic.

It wasn’t like he was stupid either. Hell, he was smarter than me. Just more thing that we polar opposites on. I was just a really unnoticeable guy, which had its perk and one very depressing draw back.

Shutting my eyes, I banged my fist on my forehead. I didn’t understand why he couldn’t just notice me without me doing anything. I didn’t have any confidence, so unfortunately I was relying on pure fate that he’d bump into me something. I even take him tackling me on accident and breaking my wrist in the process, if he’d just notice me.

Sitting up, I put my chin on the steering wheel. If I had the confidence, I walked over there, right now, grabbed him by the arm, take him somewhere private, and tell him how I feel. He probably punch me in the face though and that’s not how I want my only memory of talking to him to be like. 

If only my life could be one of those cliche that always show up in romantic chick flicks. I take him somewhere private, and we look into each other’s eyes, and I’d confess. He’d stumble over his words for a moment, but in the end, tell me that he’s loves me too. That he fell for me the moment he saw me and was just scared of being rejected. I’d tell him I’ve felt the same way and then he kiss me. 

Sighing, I closed my eyes and just wished that it would come true. Too bad I’m not living a cliche. The guy had a girlfriend. I knew that better than anyone else, and I hated to admit it, but she was a super nice girl. I wrapped my arms around my head. Why did she have to be a super nice girl. It would make me feel slightly better about lusting after her boyfriend if she was some snotty cheerleader.