🤔 The Meet-Cute: How to Botch it When You Meet a Really Cute Guy
💔 Conner, Part 1
I was elated when it finally happened, but it ended without warning, sending a crack through my heart that could only bleed out through my tears.
Walking through the crowded Student Center, I dodged teenagers, tables, and chairs as I headed toward the Arts Hall, located through the set of doors on the opposite side. I walked solo, my black messenger bag, the front flap styled with a collection of buttons from Hot Topic, was slung over my left shoulder; my black, curly hair, laced with highlights, bobbed up and down with each step I took.
I didn’t pay much attention to the people around me, deep in thought, either with stressors about school, thoughts from my previous class, or conversations I had that day. I wasn’t one of those girls who would get stopped in the hall to be talked to unless it was by someone I already knew.
Until that day.
“Hey, what’d you think of the show?”
I stopped and looked up at a tall guy with a smile in his eyes, his curly red hair messy, but cute, cut to a medium length atop his head. He was also clutching the strap of his messenger bag that ran across his torso and a T-shirt representing some band. Somehow, his khaki cargo shorts made him look taller, and white socks peeked out over the ankles of his Converse sneakers. His green eyes bore right into mine with sweet intensity, yet I returned the stare with confusion. I turned my head and looked over my left shoulder.
“Are you talking to me?” I asked him. I didn’t understand why I was stopped by this tall, cute guy that I’d never seen before on a path to my class that I had walked hundreds of times without interruption.
“Yes,” he said exasperatedly, along with a chuckle. “Who else would I be talking to?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Do you know me?”
“I saw you at the Music Pit on Friday,” he said.
“Oh!” I exhaled, my brown eyes brightening with a little comprehension. “Sorry, I must not have seen you.”
“You were standing right in front of me!” He sounded vexed. “The entire time my band was playing!”
“Oh.” I bit my lip, stalling as I thought back to Friday night.
My friends and I always managed to be in the front during the local shows at the Music Pit, a small, local venue that hosted community bands. I liked to stand on the left side of the house, next to the speakers. Not only did I find the rumble of the bass rolling through my body soothing in the loud environment, but I also had a quick exit if a mosh pit broke out by hopping on top of the speaker, narrowly avoiding wild elbows and stomping sneakers.
There was little doubt that it was me he saw that night, being that I—one of the only curly-haired, tan-skinned Asian Americans who not only frequented the local punk scene of that tiny Texas town, but also in that tiny Texas town in general—was indeed there, and he had not mistaken me for someone else.
“What band are you in?” I asked.
“Thoughts Unspoken.”
He was right. My friends and I had gone to the show that night specifically to watch the lead singer of that band, an acquaintance to me named Teddy, perform.
“I’m sorry,” I replied, “I don’t remember seeing you.” My palms became slick along the strap of my bag as I looked up into those malachite eyes, hoping for forgiveness. How could I have not noticed this really cute guy performing right in front of my face?
“Wow,” he said, taking his eyes off of me for the first time since this all started, flicking them toward the ceiling in disbelief. “That’s okay,” he settled on with a nod, looking back at me once more. “Maybe you’ll see me next time.”
With that, he walked off towards the doors I had just passed through. I looked after him, his tall frame slipping through the door frame, avoiding other students as he passed into the crowded hallway, his red curls bobbing like a buoy in the stream of teens, floating farther away from me.
I turned back and restarted my trek to my next class.
What the hell just happened?
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