Had ever suffered the agony of existing as the not-so-cute girl next door to a guy who was the sole talk of the campus, the word of the town, and the object of every girl's eyes? That feeling that you were so near yet so far was written all over the pages. Because somewhere along the line of being substantially close, you would start having this bizarre imagination of what it would be like to go out with him, which could only happen if he would look back your way and see you in a different light.
In cases like mine, well, he didn't exactly do that. This was how it was for me to be that girl next door:
1. He only knew my name, and that was it. He didn't want to know what it meant or where it came from.
2. Our parents were good friends. Us? Not so much. In fact, not at all.
3. Sometimes, he watched me play with my dog during lazy summer afternoons. Then I'd start to imagine that he would approach me and maybe ask me out. But in just a few minutes, I'd realize that he was only bored, and I was weird.
4. While being in close proximity, I assumed that I already knew a lot of things about him, but I didn't. Like, for example, who was his first kiss? I couldn't actually see that from my bedroom window.
5. I could be everywhere, literally. But when he was not interested, that was simply the case.
His name was Jace Hamilton. He was our neighbor. Yes, his room was right across from mine, making me the girl next door. That girl who awfully devoted half of her high school years to make sure that Jace Hamilton would notice her existence. I knew what it was like to be hopeless, pathetic, and desperate. Times I'd look back to and feel like I deserved a good slap, square on the face.
Jace Hamilton was so charming that it was a pain to even look at him. Like, there was a rulebook that a guy with the name and face would easily sway hearts with just one heart-stopping look.
Or maybe that was just me.
The old me.