From Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul on Love & Friendship


I’ve found that luck is quite predictable.
If you want more luck, take more chances.

Brian Tracy

My crush could have been the perfect boyfriend if I’d let him. He wasn’t what most people would call cute, but I didn’t care. I had a gigantic crush on him. My friends called me “obsessed.” I preferred the word “infatuated.”

I’m not sure why I never told him. The worst he could have done was say, “Yuck.” But in my opinion, that’s not so bad. You see, I’m pretty darn vocal; I say it how it is. Except when it comes to boys. If there is a hot guy anywhere close to me, I completely clam up. My voice goes quiet and a bit squeaky, my hands slap together in a twisted glob, and I practically bite my lip off, not to mention I can only look at the floor.

When it came to my crush, it was the same. I was petrified. I was so worried about rejection, embarrassment and looking like an idiot, I didn’t even consider a positive outcome. I couldn’t see the doughnut itself, only that there was a hole.

When I heard the news that he was moving away, I was devastated. His dad, who was a doctor, had taken a job in another city. He told me that he might be coming back in the summer. But by summer, he meant July, and it was now only October. It was much too long to wait. I had to tell him. Maybe he’d try and figure out a way to stay.

Over the next few weeks, I tried to build up my nerve. I prepared to tell him that I liked him. I made up a gazillion scenarios, a billion different conversations, and a trillion ways to tell him my big secret. I played them over and over in my mind, scripting every word, every moment and action. I finally decided to tell him at the surprise good-bye party we were throwing for him. I would expose everything, including my feelings for him. Scary.

The party would have been fun if I hadn’t been so nervous. I put on my happy face, trying to hide the fact that I was depressed. There were so many times when I wanted to tell him how I felt, but my brain always came up with a good excuse not to. Finally, as he was about to leave, I took a deep breath, walked up to him and said, “Peter?” I was surprised he heard me. I was so quiet, I could hardly hear myself.

“Yeah, Ambrosia?”

“Uh, um, I, I, I’m, I’m going to miss you,” I stammered, hugging him with all my might.

“I’m going to miss you, too,” he whispered, hugging me back. Then he turned and walked out the door with what looked like a little tear streaming down his cheek.

For the next few days, I moped around with little to say. All of my friends seemed worried.

“What’s wrong?” my best friend finally asked. After making her promise not to tell anyone, I told her about Peter. She looked surprised.

“Really?” she asked.

“Yep,” I said, regretfully.

“Wow! He had a crush on you, too!” she screamed.

“No way. I don’t believe you,” I said quietly. I was floored.

“I’m serious! He was going to tell you the day he left, but I guess he chickened out,” she said. “Kinda like you.”

“Yeah. Kinda like me,” I replied, smiling into the sun.

A few days later the phone rang, and my dad picked it up. He said it was my “boyfriend.” I figured it was one of the guys from class wanting to get the homework assignment. But I figured wrong. It was Peter. My “secret” had leaked out to one of his buddies, and he wanted to know if it was true or not. I took a deep breath. “It’s true,” I said. I couldn’t believe it. The words were so easy to say.

“I really like you, too,” he said. I wanted to store his words in my ear forever.

That’s when Peter and I became a couple. And I learned that although feelings can be scary, they can also be liberating, opening up new doors to happy endings.

Ambrosia Gilchrist

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