That One Cringey Real-Life Teenage Hormonal Issue

I Really Actually Didn't Want it to Happen. Cross my Heart

Two words.

Brad. Zhang.

Tenth grader. Total hotshot. Popular with every girl. Show-off. Total national Mathcounts champ.

And unfortunately, my all-time biggest crush.

I'm thirteen, what did you even expect? Yeah, you would expect polycystic ovary syndrome, AKA every girl's worst nightmare, acne.

My worst nightmare, however, is far. Far. Far. Worse.

It's called mood swings caused by teenage hormone imbalance.

And this is precisely what caused this horror to begin.

It literally took three days for me to fall head over heels. Day one was a chess strategy lecture about the Venus Flytrap using your Queen and Bishops where I noticed his smile right before he checkmated me. Day two was an optional debate class about decisions of the U.S. legislature where all I could see was the glare of his black-rimmed glasses. Day three was the finishing blow -- my parents sent me to a  geeky summer math camp they didn't tell me anything about.

There, I saw Brad in short sleeves and nearly swooned. Damn. For a geek, he had nice biceps.

Of course, he just had to see that I had trouble with a counting/probability question, lean over my shoulder, put his lips right next to my ear, and cup his hand over mine, which gripped my pencil so tightly I could've made a low-density fibreboard out of it.

"You can't do that," he whispered seductively, his glasses sliding down his nose while he scribbled on my paper. "You have to use permutation here. Then divide it by the total."

Does no one else find that hot?

I had a nosebleed on the spot, which put both of us in an awkward situation. I'm pretty sure I bled all over the carpet before the seventeen-year-old, ex-national Mathcounts champion, all AP student with 5.0 GPA grades finally got it through his thick skull that I maybe needed a tissue.

I tried to smother myself in a fire blanket to see if the heat in my chest would subside.

Needless to say, it didn't work.

The next time I saw Brad Zhang, though, sucked the oxygen out of the room more effectively than if he had taken a fire extinguisher and opened the whole canister.

He had a gorgeous brunette hanging off of his arm, and she was tossing her head around like her neck was broken. I'm pretty sure I was sending radioactive laser beams at her. Well, what I could see of her behind her enormous boobs.

It sucks being short.

It sucks not having boobs.

And this irrational thinking is another side effect of hormonal problems.

"See you, Brad~"

The irrational thought of wanting to throttle someone is probably another side effect of hormonal problems.

"Bye, babe."

The irrational thought of throttling two people is probably another side effect of hormonal problems.

But just because I could, I kicked Brad on the shin before running.

What did I say?

Polycystic ovary syndrome.