He had her from the get-go.

Tall and muscled and the star of the track team, he was in prime position to steal her away just because she was beautiful and he wanted to show off. Of course I should have learned not to be so angry -- I should have realized I didn't actually want this girl if she went along with it. (Oh, and she did. So many times I'd walk through the corridors at that high school to see her leaning against him with that dumb giggle in her face, "look what I have and you don't.)

I had known that girl for four years. Her parents worked with mine and we were always neatly categorized together, despite the fact that she wore Abercrombie and I lived in my black hoodie. She ran the halls with minions of silly blondes and I,
I just fell in love with her.
It was hard enough being around her to begin with but he, he made it worse.

Of all the girls in the school I was probably the only one who was jealous of him. I knew she probably didn't want me; probably thought I was disgusting; probably didn't want me to exist. I knew he didn't know. I know he would have pounded me into the ground if he'd noticed.

But that day when I found her crying against her locker, instinct took over. I couldn't help but ask her what was wrong. I comforted her and walked her to class, late, when everyone would turn around and see her tear-stained face and she might stammer, "I-I'm sorry, I was at my locker..." and all her ex-boyfriend's friends would sit in the back and make sophomoric jokes about it.

I saw him again. Many times -- well, he was hard to avoid; he owned that building. I was furious at him. I fell in love with this girl. I treated her ten times better and we only talked four times. (I know the dates, have them written in a notebook in my room.)

She didn't talk to me a lot after that but many times I was recipient of her smile. The happiest smile in the world. So fuck off, Trackstar. I fell in love with her first.

filling an interesting nodeshell with a snippet of bad fiction. my life is fulfilled.