Dear C, (AKA, Cucumber. (Long story)),
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It's been five years. Five years since chubby-cheeked ten-year-old me, shy and reserved, met twelve-year-old you (an insanely older boy in my young, nieve eyes) in ballet class. Five years since I had my first real crush.
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It was the small things at first, such as the class photo we took on my birthday when you and your younger brother each had to hold my hand. I still stare at that picture; the nervous smile on my face, the way my shoulders seemed to lift to my shoulders, the silver tiara atop my head, the grin on your lips...mainly the way you held my hand.
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I remember you'd say just a word to me, and my throat would go dry, look my way, and my heart would race. And then, in the spring, we were paired together in a dance; I had to hold your hand and dance around you. And while all of the other girls would cry about cooties and whine about dancing with a boy, I was truly excited to hold your hand every week during rehearsal.
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Then you left. I didn't see you for an entire year, and while perhaps I didn't know it but eleven-year-old me subconsciously still had a teeny tiny little crush on you, even if you weren't there anymore.
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But, of course, when I least expected it, you showed up again, this time two years older than you were before. And I couldn't help but fall for you all over again. It was your eyes, and that smile, and maybe something about how you kinda looked like a heartbreaker at fourteen years old; something in my heart and head just kept leading me back to you.
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More often rather than not, I caught you watching me, or you'd look up, and our eyes would meet; you'd give me compliments, and I'd shyly accept them; adults began to point out the way you'd act around me, and pretend that I didn't know what they were talking about; my friends began to scheme, and you soon had a code name (cucumber). Even your sister teased me about you; I mean, tell me that doesn't mean something.
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It was all going as planned until about two years ago. Dance classes went virtual, and of course, that kind of put a stunt in my plan.
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Just like that, it seemed I'd lost you again. You disappeared as you had a few years before.
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I tried to convince myself that I was over you, that I had moved on because lets be honest, the odds seemed pretty against it. And after all, you were two years older; you were moving on with things like high school while I was hardly even a teenager.
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So then there was this thing that I convinced myself I had with this other boy, where I worked up the guts to tell him my supposed feelings for him only to end up hurt from the outcome. But, now, honestly, I know that it was all along an effort to get over you.
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My friend ended up seeing you last summer, though you don't know that we know each other, and let me just say, the phone call I got from her later on, on how we were going to meet again was one full of hope and excitement. That was the day that my feelings for you came flooding on back.
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I started to stalk your Instagram. Yeah, I know, I'm creepy, but I don't care, because honestly, you look like a model.
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My friends and I would have these wild discussions too, scheming on how we could possibly reunite us. I would scoff at their crazy ideas, but they would claim that they knew we would see each other again. At the time, I deemed them crazy, but now, I kinda have to give them credit. Because they, indeed, ended up being right.
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I remember that November night rehearsal so clearly, sitting amongst a mass of other girls tying my pointe shoes when I heard your name. I'm not being dramatic when I say I literally started shaking when the teachers began to discuss the matter of you coming back for the Christmas ballet to serve in a role that our small cast hadn't managed to fill.
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It was weeks later when I saw your face in person for the first time in almost two years. I knew that this was my last chance; I had to try to form a bond and create a state of communication between us so that I wouldn't lose you again.
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So I set out on my mission. It began with small, tiny comments and brief eye contact, but eventually, it converted into discussions backstage, high fives, and wishing each other good luck before we'd go on stage.
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It was the last day of the show when I gave you a card with my number in it; whether you opened it and what you did with it after, I still have no clue.
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I waited for a text from you, a call, a sign you opened my card, but there was nothing. Soon, I found out that you had had a girlfriend, not that I had known, but she cheated on you. I remember wondering how someone could do that to a boy like you.
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I saw you a few more times after that, attended an open house at the Catholic school that your family owns, and then, a month later, shadowed as a potential future student. It didn't work out, but I walked out of it having heard you call me the best dancer ever. For me, that was enough.
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Months later, at the beginning of the summer, you broke my heart without even knowing it. My mom came home from a meet-up with her friend bearing news that you were flirting with both of her friend's daughters over social media, and honestly, from the things you said to them, you didn't seem like the sweet religious boy that I thought you to be. Now, I know you didn't do anything directly to me at all but I felt betrayed because this brought me back to the neglected phone number and made me think that maybe you didn't like me all along. If I'm being honest, I cried in my bed that night over the person I thought you were. And I never cry.
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Now, I frankly don't know how I feel about you. I kind of want to show you that you can't have it all, even though you think you can. I want to show you that not all girls will just throw themselves down at your feet.
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But a part of me, that part of me from five years ago, still loves you. Somehow, you've managed to steal my heart and break it all at once.
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We'll see where this goes; we'll see,
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Sincerely,
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the quiet girl from dance
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