When I was in 8th grade, I was "dating" this really cute guy in my class. I put it in quotes, because by dating, I mean I had a giant crush on him, I assume he had a giant crush on me, he sat at my table during lunch, we held hands in the hallway, and he opened doors for me. I don't recall us ever actually going anywhere together. Although I may have gone to his house for his birthday party? Anyway, I really liked this boy. I mean really.
In eighth grade, he tried out for the school track team (and I use the words "tried out" lightly- if you went to my school and you tried out for something, it means you were on the team (although he was an extremely talented runner, so he would have made the team, no matter how enormous of a school he attended)). So, spring rolls around and he joins the track team (we were steady by then, we started dating in the fall, and this was late May or very, very, very early June). I want to be a good girlfriend (after all, he always held my hand in the hallway and opened doors for me), so I decide I'm going to his track meet!
I remember going to the track two or so hours after school was released for the day, and that it was kind of cool, but not too bad. Like the kind of cool where if you're running around, you'll get warm with a light jacket on, but if you take it off, you won't really be comfortable. The air is cold, but the sun is warm, you know? It was nice outside.
My dreamboat (haha) ran distance and middle distance, so he ran some of his events, and I watched him all proudly. (You guys, this was my boyfriend.) In between his events, he'd come racing over to me in the mid-field (not much of a bleacher for the middle school track, you know- all of the parents and siblings and friends and coaches and teammates all mingled together in the middle of the track) and we would giggle and say stupid things and flirt, and then he'd go run another event, and then come back all sweaty and stinky so we could giggle and flirt some more.
I remember that my dad was coming to pick me up that night, because I had a softball game or practice or something that I had to run home to change for, so I told my "special friend" that I had to go. And...
My sweaty, smelly, sweatpantsed, handsome, hilarious, lovely, DREAMBOAT boyfriend, leaned in and stabbed me on one corner of my mouth with his lips.
You. Guys.
I.
Was.
Over.
The.
Moon.
I was all, "He LOVES me!!!"
And, "We're going to get MARRIED someday!!!"
And, "He LOVES me!!!"
So I gave him a giant hug and I raced out to the parking lot, and I'm pretty sure I was beaming all night long. I got my first kiss, and it was from the cutest boy I knew! I could feel my little I'm-afraid-to-kiss-you-and-I'm-14-years-old kiss for hours. In fact, when I woke up the next morning, I could probably still feel my kiss, right there on the corner of my mouth, waiting for me to wake up and remember it.
Honestly, I wouldn't trade it for anything. It's one of my favorite memories. :)
:)
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