I wanted to not feel bad about kissing a boy, dating a boy, or letting a boy make a fool out of me. Recently, I’ve been made a fool out of.

         It was mid-October, and the leaves were warm tones of orange and brown hues, bright as pumpkins. I’d spot tips of yellow across rows of leaves along the rows of trees that lined the gardens next to the school. It was Homecoming, a day that’d be full of sweaty mosh-pits and tons of thrilled parents beckoning us to take photos. I, unfortunately, did not have a date for this event. He was a tall, Chinese, Stanford-bound 19-year-old, who was an exchange student from China. Through his notable accent, I found him rather adorable. You might think, ah, this is the boy she’ll end up getting played by. Unfortunately, this one asked me to be his girlfriend three days into knowing me. I told him I was too busy with college applications.

         Well, the night started well before it turned into chaos, girls not showing up to mixed-up plans and awkward parents who felt bad about it. The dance itself wasn’t too great. It was typical. A darkened lit-up room, with snacks in a tight corner, sweaty bodies in a clump, and ear-deafening music. The night passed, and a drunk senior with a ripped white shirt jumped between the crowd, and the circulation of bodies through the mosh pit, individuals bold enough to show off their more than mediocre dance skills.

         Then, he appeared. I didn’t even see him slide through the crowd into the mosh pit, yet there he was. His fluffy, brown hair cascaded on his muscular build, lean muscles tightening as he made his way to the floor. Then he begins. His descent to the floor was quicker than I could catch, and people were pushing in front of me almost blocking my vision, amongst screaming and cheering. He’d begun to breakdance skillfully, speedy movements of his legs, arms, and back. He was upside down at a point and did a backflip too. The guys cheered loudly, screaming his name, cheering it over and over again. Unafraid to say it to the world.

         I’d noticed Breakdancer before, and I won’t lie. He was attractive, with slim, black-rimmed glasses that were square on his face, and bright green eyes with long, dewy lashes. Though it was a bit of a Harry Potter look, he dressed well, and with variety. He cared about his appearance, which was attractive. I’d complimented his handwriting once in our English class together, and the next day he requested to follow me. I thought there might be something more to him all the times I’d catch him staring in class. I couldn’t put my finger on it.

         The girls that were in my group for Homecoming decided they wanted to go to the party that night. It’d been arranged for one of the parents to drive, and I asked to catch a ride with them. It was my first party, and I didn’t know what I was getting myself into. The night itself was a mess, a blur of people I don’t remember, kids getting plastered, and new groups of people shifting everywhere. The parents were sitting in a room nearby, calmly working on their computers, which struck me as weird.

         In the basement, lights were dancing from wall to wall as people began to file in, immediately driving over from the dance. A table full of different assortments of alcohol was in the back, near a beer pong table. I grabbed a drink and began to scan the room, stopping by to play beer pong and briefly talk to some classmates.

         Then, I spotted him. Sitting on the end of the tan, leather couch, his face peering towards his lit-up phone, not paying attention to anyone. I’d been meaning to talk to him for weeks since he’d followed me and seeing him in the halls and class had made me nervous too. I knew I had to muster up the courage this time.

         “Hey,” I greeted him confidently, partly because I was slightly drunk, and partly because I wanted to present myself as confident. He responded, and briefly, we began to chat. There wasn’t much to talk about, so I suddenly blurted, “Who would you know that I’d know?” smiling coyly, making my signature move. I’d asked him if he was at the mall the other day, somewhere I saw him the next day after he followed me, something that felt like fate. It was my signature move, and I jokingly asked him that, obviously flirting.

         He didn’t mind the attention, playing my game, and naming people I simply didn’t know. I sat beside him to get a better read on him. Somehow our conversation continued, and I proceeded to admit to him I didn’t have a ride home. I sheepishly asked him for a ride, to which he automatically agreed, something I’m beyond grateful to this day. Then, came an aloof, drunk guy who started to hit on me, robbing my attention from Breakdancer.

         I didn’t see Breakdancer again that night, till it was time to go home. It was a hazy night, and I’d somehow become too drunk to control myself, stumbling over stairs and people, and unable to coherently form words. Breakdancer took good care of me though, taking me to his clean, grey Subaru, full of his friends, and letting me take the front seat, intertwining my hands with his. I remember thinking, ‘Wow, this is just like what I had with Christian. This is nice.” Christian was my ex. An uber-athlete, uber-wealthy, basic white boy, it only took him eight months to break my heart weeks ago. I’d not found anyone to help me get over him, and it seemed like Breakdancer could be a potential solution to that.

         Breakdancer took me back to my apartment, a messy, cluttered space that was meant for my eyes only, but somehow my brain had convinced me it was fine to let him in. He came in with me, as I stumbled through chaos, and I splayed myself on the bed, beckoning him to join me.

         I’m uncertain about how it happened, but suddenly, I felt his warm tongue on mine, and his braces against my lips. He was a good kisser, and it was euphoric. “Get on top of me,” I told him. Smirking through my lips, I ask him, “Is this, okay?” “Yeah,” he said, gasping through breaths, which made my face only hotter. I felt his heart beating as I pulled him in and ran my fingers through his soft hair. He pulled back again, “I might have to go.” “Don’t,” I said. I smiled at him with that same coy smile, giggling as I pulled on his hair, feeling his smile against my lips. It’d been long since I’d craved someone like this, and my drunk self projected all her wants on Breakdancer.  

         Breakdancer had to go home. He couldn’t snog all night, and I could tell from his abrupt leave that he’d felt bad that I was drunk.

         I woke up still drunk the next day, and texted him a rather flirty, “Could do last night again.” When I sent that message, Breakdancer went cold. “I’m not going to be able to hang out in these coming weeks, I’m too busy focusing on break.”

         Call me the fool. He’d got me, and I felt used. Of course, Breakdancer needs to break… though it’s probably not the real reason he flat-out rejected me. Still, did he have to borrow my tongue first, to be sure? My immature side even felt annoyed that he used me before I could use him. I wasn’t too hurt because I couldn’t remember much of the night, and I realized I didn’t even know much about Breakdancer. Nothing about what might be behind his sly smile and sparkling eyes.

         So, I’m not the all-playing woman I thought I was, or the lady that Breakdancer would want to date. So what? Impulsive decisions, 1, dumb teenagers, 0. I’m still grateful for the care I received from Breakdancer, only sadder at the loss of what could have even been a friendship.

         Breakdancer avoids eye contact in the halls now. He seats himself far away from me and won’t even bear to look in my direction. He’s going to Dartmouth and dating my biology lab partner, whom he met at a party that I wasn’t invited to.