And so it begins

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Since I was eleven I knew that I was different.

I mean I kind of knew before then, but eleven was when it really hit me. It all started on the first day of sixth grade.

Her name was Ashley Davies and the moment I saw her I got butterflies in my stomach.

I couldn't figure out why at first but soon did.

I was in homeroom sitting in the back of the classroom reading my schedule when she came in, there was only one desk empty and it was right next to me.

She came in and sat down.

I remember feeling as though my heart would jump out of my chest and trying so

hard not to show it.

My hands were clammy and I was sweating.

"Hi, I'm Ashley," she said confidently.

"I'm Spencer," I replied nervously.

"So are you from around here?" she asked.

"No, I'm from Ohio actually." I answered.

"Oh really? Is there much to do there?" she inquired.

"No, not really, I'm from a really small town of only like five hundred or so people." I replied.

"Wow, so everyone must know everyone right?" she asked smiling.

"Yeah, I guess you could say," I replied.

The more we talked the more my stomach did summer salts.

Luckily for me, homeroom would be over soon.

After homeroom, I walked to my next class making my way through hundreds of students unlike my

old school where you could do backward flips down the hall and not touch anyone.

I made my way into my first period trying to forget about Ashley only to find out that we had the same class.

"Hey!" Ashley yelled from her seat, waving as I entered.

There were plenty of open seats but she was gesturing for me to come sit next to her and I didn't want to be rude.

Besides I didn't know anyone else anyway. "What are the odds that we'd end up having the same first period?" she asked happily.

"1 in 9," I replied. "Being that there were only nine first period classes for the sixth graders to choose

from."

She laughed a little.

I guess she thought that was a joke.

"Let me see you schedule," she commanded.

I took my schedule out of my notebook and handed it to her.

"Ahh..." she screamed softly. "We have the same lunch and the same fourth period, this is so awesome."

"Yeah," I replied, "Awesome."

The teacher came in and beckoned us all to settle down and take our seats.

He was a white man in his mid 50's with really yellow teeth.

I remember because we called him Mr. ButterMouth.

Never to his face of course.

Anyway, all throughout Mr. Bradfords class I found myself looking over at her, kind of studying her.

The way she took the eraser off all her pencils so she could chew the end, the way her hair was kind of fluffy on one side and kinda flat on the other, the way she drew hearts in the top corner of all notebooks and the way she...

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