Dear Katherine

I'm so stupid

Dear Katherine,

     A week had passed, and you and I became close friends. You were awesome, and every day you amazed me.

     Every night I would text you a simple compliment. But don’t think that I just made those up to flatter you. Those compliments were true.

     Especially on that night when I told you that you were one of a kind. You really are.

     I remember that one day, just a few days before school ended, we were sitting on the porch steps, playing wiht our phones. Well, you were reading, and I was playing with my phone, but that’s not the point. The point is that Logan Jacobs had walked down the steps, past you. And you lifted up your beautiful green eyes that were focused on your book just to look at him.

     You stared at him until he walked the last step, and then you dropped your gaze and focused on reading your book again.

     I stared at you, trying to remember if I’d ever seen you and Logan talk before. I knew you weren’t friends. And at the time, I couldn’t recall any time when I saw the two of you together.

     Logan Jacobs was one of the most popular guys in school. But honestly, if he weren’t really good-looking, he’d just be another normal guy walking in the halls.

     He was only popular because he was the most handsome guy in school. He had average grades, he played basketball and was okay at it, and he went to a few parties. All-in-all, he was pretty chill.

     I knew because we were actually friends.

     Logan was actually a cool guy, to be honest. Though he only had one girlfriend before, almost every girl in school had a crush on him.

     60 percent of the girls in school liked him. 35 percent of the girls in school had a crush on Garrett Evans (the player-slash-bad boy) and 5 percent of the girls in school liked someone else.

      And I was getting worried that you might be a part of that 60 percent.

     “Why are you staring at me?” you had asked me.

     “Why were you staring at Logan?” I had asked you in return. You had blushed, and dropped your eyes from mine as the sides of your mouth pulled up into a small smile.

     “I wasn’t.”

     And that was when I realized that you were a part of that 60 percent.

     Forever yours,

     Jonathan