DEAR WESLEY, 

YOU WERE THE TYPE OF BOY who would laugh with every fiber of your being. I'm not kidding. You'd snort and you'd throw your head back. You'd laugh heartily at my jokes like I was some comedian. You knew damn well I wasn't that funny.

Wesley, you were my best friend. You were the boy who would hold me in your arms whenever I'd had a shitty day at school. You'd be the one to hold me close and run your hands through my curls. 

You were the one person I'd talk to for hours, the one person I could ever have considered my ride-or-die. You showed me love in a way I couldn't explain. When I was with you, Wesley, I felt like I was on top of the damn world.

I remember the day we met. We were in the same science class with Mrs. Johnson as our teacher. We'd had assigned seating and I'd ended up next to you. You couldn't take anything seriously, not even then, and you kept on making these gurgling sounds, pretending that you were clearing your throat during class.

Girls thought you were so funny. They'd giggle and elbow each other in the side. Boys wanted to be the ones to get the laughter, to get the attention. But all eyes were always on you. I found you annoying and disruptive.  You thought I was uptight and a killjoy.  One day I'd had enough, and I'd snapped, "Can you cut it out?"

The room hushed. No one, not even Mrs. Johnson, would snap at you in that way. I think it was your charm. The way you got away with everything because you were a cute blond boy with dimples and freckles. Wesley, you were the type of boy that everyone was a little in love with.

So, for me, the quiet girl to confront the class clown—well, it was unheard of. You loved it; you loved the way I challenged you. I could see it in your blue eyes and in the slow grin that spread across your entire damn face. It angered me to see how unaffected you were by my irritation with you.

You'd said, "Well, she speaks!" And everyone laughed except for me. You noticed me from then on, and every time I rose my hand up to say something, you'd sensationalize it. "Is Eden speaking? Guys, shut up, Eden is trying to say something."

You were making fun of me, and if I'd hated you a little bit before, I absolutely loathed you now. But you didn't care. You'd watch me and laugh at me and tease me. You'd try and run into me after class.

One day, when I was walking out of class, you finally caught up with me. You'd pointed at my bright pink glasses I'd worn at that time. Then, you'd said: "I like your glasses! They suit you."

"Are you making fun of me?" I'd asked. 

"No, I'm serious!" You said. You'd smiled. I realized that you wore braces. You remember those braces, right? They made you all the more endearing and you always had these bright blue bands in them.

And Wesley Byrne, you charmed me in that moment with your big grin and your blue braces and your earnest expression.

So, I'd said, "I like your braces." I'd thought about it for a moment, before adding, "I guess."

Wesley, your whole face lit up. It was as though someone had handed you the universe. I'd always loved how expressive you were, how you never censored your emotions. You wore your heart on your sleeve. 

Thus, that day we became friends. It was an unlikely combo, the nerd and the class clown, but we made it work. We became inseparable. You practically lived at my house. My family literally had a drawer in my room dedicated to your things, because you came over that often.

You were infinitely more popular than me, though. Everyone loved you. You were cute and witty and had people fawning over you left and right. One of the people who fawned over you the most was none other than Elodie Miller, my mortal enemy and tormentor.

Looking back, it was such a cliché, right? I mean, who would've thought the Queen Bee and the school nerd would be unable to get along? It's a plotline right out of a cheesy high school movie. Except, Elodie wasn't ditzy like all the mean girls you see in the movies. She was smart. Clever.

She was trendy and popular and intelligent, and I was only the latter of those three things. So, of course I wasn't okay with her. She was basically me, but better. And she was crushing hard on you, but she actually had a chance with you unlike me. I told myself I couldn't care less, but I resented the fact that she was everything I wanted to be.

But to be fair, this beef wasn't one-sided. Elodie hated me too. We were academic rivals in every sense of the term. We would compare our respective 97s and 98s on a test and the one with the marginally higher mark would be smug about it for the rest of the day.

I think that's what pissed Elodie off— that for once, she had to compete with someone for something. She was by far one of the prettiest girls in the grade with wavy black hair that reached her shoulders and forest green eyes. She was friends with everyone and she was one of the best players on our school volleyball team.  I couldn't compete with her on anything else, but academics? Well, that was something I had on her, and it enraged her.

At least, that's what I thought at the time. I'd firmly believed that the reason Elodie slid catty comments my way and feuded with me over school marks was solely because of our academic rivalry, but what I later realized was that our beef had a lot to do with you.

You and I would go everywhere together. If there was a middle school dance, you'd ask me to be your date. We never made a big deal about it. We were best friends and that was that. However, in middle school— and let's face it, even now as adults — there's an unspoken rule that boys and girls can't just be friends.  So, everyone insisted that we'd fall in love one day or that we were crushing hard on each other but weren't ready to admit it. 

Elodie hated these rumors and hated the possibility of us being more than friends, so she'd loop her elbow in yours at any given occasion. She'd compete with me for your attention—although, I hadn't fully realized we were competing— and she only upped the ante as the years went by.

You and I stayed friends until freshman year when Elodie decided to seize what she believed what was rightfully hers. (Hint: it was you.)

So, when the Valentine's Day dance rolled around, she made her move. She asked you out. I wasn't there when she did so, but you had come over to my place, trilling your lips.

"What is it?" I'd asked.

You'd looked at me with your big blue eyes and said. "Please don't be mad."

Even then, I couldn't think of anything you could've possibly done to make me feel mad. You've always been talented at that— making people believe that you're flawless. 

"Geez, Wes," I'd said. "Just spit it out."

You did, because you always blurted things out under pressure. "Elodie asked me out to the Valentine's Day dance."

There was silence between us.

It upset me at the time. Most of the anger was due to the fact that I firmly believed this was Elodie's underhanded way of having one over me. But another, smaller part of my anger was due to the fact that I'd wanted to go with you. And perhaps, the smaller part of my anger wasn't that small at all.

"I won't go if you don't want me to." You looked into my eyes. At the time, I thought you did it just to be polite, and you did. But now I wonder if there was any part of you that wanted me to stop you, that wanted me to chase you. You've always loved the chase, but only when someone else was doing the chasing.

"You can go," I'd shrugged. "I don't really care," I'd added for good merit. 

"You think you'll find someone else?" You'd asked. 

I shrugged. "Probably." I lied right through my teeth. We both knew that I wouldn't be finding a date anytime soon, but you pretended that you weren't aware of the fact. Sure, I'd gotten rid of my atrocious hot pink glasses that you'd so dutifully complimented back in seventh grade, but at the end of the day, I didn't know how to talk to many boys outside of you and most wouldn't be keen on asking me to the dance, partially because most didn't know I existed. 

I didn't try to be invisible, but I didn't try to be seen either. I just kept to myself. Sometimes, I wonder if that hurt me more than helped me.

Well, fast-forward to the day of the dance. I still hadn't figured out the date thing and I was seriously debating not going, but my parents had bought me the prettiest, blush-colored  skater dress just the week before. I would've been remiss to waste their money like that.

So, I went. 

I wish I hadn't.

Okay, maybe that's a smidge dramatic. The pizza was tolerable and the punch was delectable but something about watching you slow dance with my mortal enemy felt like a punch in the gut. I'd told myself that it was because I was lonely, because I was used to going to school dances with my best friend of two years at the time, because Elodie was annoying and likely felt smug that she'd managed to strip you away from me.

And sure, that was all part of it. But the truth of the matter is that I wanted to be the person slow dancing with you. But instead, I was on the outskirts as I watched you and her dance. You didn't even glance my way.

For a boy who would've dropped Elodie a week ago if I'd said the word, you seemed extremely into her during that dance. I should've seen everything that followed coming. 

But I didn't. I was a dumb fifteen-year-old who hadn't a clue in the world.

So, I was stupid enough to be surprised when you told me a week from then that you and Elodie were dating. I was stupid enough to be surprised when you started spending more time with your girlfriend than your best friend. I was stupid enough to be surprised when you distanced yourself from me per Elodie's orders. 

I was a stupid, stupid kid. I might have been school-smart, but I was obtuse in just about everything else.

When you did hang out with me, Elodie came along and somehow, I became the third wheel. You and I used to lay down together on your hammock. We used to walk side by side on the sidewalk. We used to sit together on the school bus.

But now, you were doing all those things with Elodie. And the thing is, there isn't enough room on a hammock, sidewalk or bus row for three people. So, I was always cast along the sidelines. Elodie was smug and I was heartbroken. 

You were the first boy I ever cried over, Wesley Byrne. I don't know if that means anything to you. 

So, realistically, I was thrilled when you broke up with Elodie a couple of months later. For a brief second, I was put out of my misery and you saw me again. We sang songs together, hung out at the local ice-cream place and went to the movies together. I thought we were fixed.

What I—admittedly foolishly—hadn't expected, were all the other girls that followed. I didn't expect the Cassandras or the Claires or the on-and-off again relationship with Elodie. I hadn't anticipated it.

And just like it was when you first got a girlfriend, you largely ignored me during the weeks you dated each girl. "Ignore" might be a harsh word, but it also seems to be the only word that fits the situation. It's simple: when you had a girlfriend, I didn't exist.

Sometimes you'd invite me to hang out with you two which was likely due to you feeling guilty about ditching me. At the time, I thought you were just completely oblivious to what you were doing. I thought you had no idea that I was the odd one out. I later realized that when people leave someone out, they can typically tell. They simply don't care enough to do anything about it. 

But damn, Wesley. You were good at the oblivious act. I still believe that sometimes, you genuinely were oblivious. You played the role well. When you were dating a new girl, she became your world. I'd be the one sending dozens of unread messages asking if we could hang out. You were the one who didn't respond to them.

 But bam. Suddenly, once you broke up with a girl, you were all about me. You would practically throw yourself at me. You'd want to hang out all the time. It didn't matter what my schedule looked like; I had to be readily available for you. 

And I'm ashamed to say so, but I took all of your treatment. I took all the sucker punches that came with you ignoring me and took all the confusion that came with you being all over me. I took it, because I fell under your spell like all those other girls. 

I was a walking cliché. It's embarrassing for me to look back at.

Summer rolled around and the pattern remained the same. That is until there was a variation in the pattern. I remember because it was a hot night in mid-June when you changed everything. You were crying over a Cassandra or a Claire and I was comforting you in the warmth of my outdoor tent. I didn't know what else to do but comfort you. I held you in my arms and you cried into my shirt. There shouldn't have been anything abnormal that day. I held you whenever you broke up with a girl. 

I was the only one who saw you like this— vulnerable with fat tears streaking down your cheeks. It didn't matter how tired I was, how betrayed I felt— I would be there for you. I guess that's the tricky thing about love— it makes one easy to exploit. 

So, when you looked up at me with those big eyes, I became vulnerable. At the time, I thought you had been the vulnerable one. You had been the one with tears pooling down your cheeks. You had been the one that had just experienced a breakup. But looking back, it's clear to me that you were the one in control then. 

I should've stopped you. I should've stopped you when you looked up at me and said, "I only ever liked one girl anyway." I should've called bullshit when you'd said that girl was me. I should've pushed you away when you made the decision that screwed up our friendship even more than it had already been screwed up.

I should have backed away before you looked up into my eyes and then you kissed me. 

It hadn't even been three hours since you'd broken up with that girl. 

I let you lie to me. I let you say that you actually had liked me all this time and you had broken up with that girl for me. It was only later that the girl told me herself that she had broken up with you. 

Wesley Byrne, you were my first manipulator. And it turns out, I had been the oblivious one all along.