WESLEY, THE FIRST MONTH WAS PERFECT.

For once I had felt like everything was going my way. No longer did I have to worry about Elodie or any other girl. In fact, for the first time I felt as though you saw me. I bought it when you told me that you'd always seen me as more than just your best friend.

For once, I was winning. I was the girl who got your full attention. We'd spend hours laying down side by side on your hammock. We'd lay down in my front yard, right next to the tent in which we shared our first kiss. I was whole because I had you all to myself. And together, I felt like we were unstoppable.

June was the summer I'd always dreamed of. I was only fifteen, but I'd really believed that this was what life was all about. I enjoyed it: hanging out with you the way I always had, save for the kisses and the whispers over the burning campfire. 

Wesley, one of my first mistakes was my infatuation with you. 

And sometimes, when we're young, we can't differentiate between infatuation and love, obsession and care. It was the end of June that summer when it all came crashing to the ground. The issue with things falling apart is the fact that often it starts slowly.

Picture this: a house with bricks slowly dropping from its walls, with scaffolding and wall paint slowly peeling off the building. That was our relationship. It turns out, it isn't always healthy to have a relationship that can't decide whether it crosses the line between friends and lovers. 

But we were fifteen. What did we know about lovers? 

So, that night in June, we were sitting on your front porch. We were devouring ice-cream cones, both of our ice-creams dribbling down our hands and sweetening our mouths. It felt like those days in seventh grade when we would hang out for hours on end, and your parents would stuff us with food. 

The sun was setting, the sky a golden hue, and the moment was perfect. It was more than enough for me to just have this: to sit down in your presence on one of your lawn chairs while you sat on the chair a foot away from me. 

I was staring at you. I marveled at you. Each day, you seemed to grow more beautiful. Your skin took a golden tan due to the sun and your hair had become even lighter in color due to the excessive light. You were taller than me now, even though I'd had more than a few inches on you when we were thirteen.

You were somewhere else. I could see it in the way your eyes took a distant expression. I noticed everything about you. I saw you. Likely more than I saw anyone else. Likely more than I saw reality. 

I patted your shoulder and you cast me a sheepish glance. 

"What is it?" My grin was soft. I creased imaginary wrinkles out of my summer dress.

"Well, I had an idea."

"Shoot."

"You probably won't be down for it, but..." You allowed your hair to fall in front of your eyes. Then you pushed the waves out of your face. Your eyes were gentle, but calculating.

"You don't know that," I reply. I was pulling my curls back into a low bun. 

"Fine," you sighed. You were all for the theatrics, Wesley Byrne. "Well Elodie's hosting a bonfire. I wanted to go."

There were two things that frightened me in that sentence: Elodie and public gatherings. But for you, I forced a smile. Perhaps you didn't notice it was forced. Perhaps you didn't care. "Oh," is all I said.

"I knew you wouldn't want to come," you said this very patiently, like I was that predictable. I hated being predictable. You ran a hand through your hair. "It's just," you bowed your head, "I've gone with all my girlfriends."

My face went hot. Because that meant you considered me one of the girlfriends. In that moment, it seemed as though it was a promise, a prophecy. Looking back, I realize that it was a carrot on a stick, and I was the mule. 

Your eyes stayed on mine, because you had me exactly where you wanted me. "Well?"

"Yeah!" I wiped my clammy hands on my jeans. "Let's go."

Your eyes glinted with satisfaction, and soon enough, we were off.

***

I didn't know what type of activities occurred at bonfires. You knew as well as I did that I didn't get invited to places. I was content with that, frankly.  I wouldn't have minded living the summer like all those teenagers who partied all night and tanned all day but I also didn't mind playing video games in your basement or hanging out at my house with snacks. 

The night had a slight breeze when we arrived. There was a plethora of kids there. Tons of shivering shirtless guys and bikini-clad girls I recognized from school, but many more wearing oversized hoodies and flannel. 

Elodie greeted us once we arrived. She was beyond gorgeous with a heart-shaped face and siren eyes. She'd already mastered the art of eyeliner. I was still struggling to make winged eyeliner look as artful as she did.

She was in denim shorts and a crop top that accented her waist. "Hi," she had chirped. Her hair was pulled back and her skin was glowing. She looked beyond beautiful. 

I waved hi back and you'd grinned. 

"Wes, did you want to hang out with us?" She jutted her thumb back at your friends — lacrosse athletes and cheerleaders on break.  

My stomach dropped.

Elodie's eyes found mine then. "You can come if you want."

The thing is, I knew one thing then: when someone invited you someplace with those words, the person didn't actually want you there. If I followed along, I would be the odd one out, the uninvited loner who would ruin the vibe. 

So, I declined. 

I wasn't sure what I was thinking in that moment. Maybe I thought you'd convince me to come with you. Maybe I thought you'd stick behind and keep me company, seeing as the only reason I came along was because of you.

But you didn't.

In fact, I can't remember if you even glanced back at me. 

Elodie's hand grasped onto your upper arm, and she was dragging you away before another word could be uttered. I stood there like an idiot, watching the two of you leave, feet sinking into the sand, laughs escaping both of your lips, her hands on you all the time. 

I could've screamed then, but I was the type of person to scream in my head rather than out loud. I wandered about the bonfire aimlessly. I'd headed down the food stands to grab a cup of punch. 

The setting sun and oncoming darkness saved me, because it hid my loneliness just a bit. I wouldn't look like that huge of a loser if people couldn't see me. No one talked to me that evening, and it was my first lesson regarding the issues of having one friend. 

Now, in high school, it felt like everything was set in stone. People knew who their friends were, where they belonged. I didn't. Without you, I was aimless. It struck me right in the face. I didn't know how to make friends; I barely knew how to make friends with you back in seventh grade. Now, it seemed impossible.

Still, I stuck around. 

I scanned the beach as I sat by the ocean. Cerulean waves licked at my feet as my eyes flew around the open space. It only dawned on me a few minutes later that I was looking for you. And saw you, I did.

You and Elodie were walking hand in hand, red-faced and giggling. None of your other friends were anywhere in sight. It was only you two. I could feel my lunch coming up because you two were perfect together. Your hand slid around her shoulders and you whispered something into her ear as she laughed. 

I stood there, abandoned in the sand as I thought of the words you said to me the night you'd kissed me four weeks prior. I thought about how you'd said I was the only girl you ever really liked. I thought to this day, about how you'd likened me to all your real girlfriends to persuade me into going to this bonfire. A bonfire in which you'd ditched me alone not even five minutes into the night. 

Sometimes, teen love felt like everything. When you're young, all your problems feel so big, like no one can ever understand them. That day, I could've fallen to my knees and cried. But I didn't. 

I thought you might reach out when the two of you approached where I'd been sitting in the sand, but you walked by me as though I didn't exist. I considered calling out your name, but I thought better and kept my mouth shut.

Wiping salty tears from my eyes, I made my way back to my house.

I didn't understand. I'd thought that I could be enough for you. As naïve as it sounds, I'd believed everything you told me. I believed my silly little crush that emerged over the past few years was finally coming into fruition. 

I'd thought we were perfect. Our parents got along alright. Throughout June, we had barbecues together. Our parents would talk by the grill while the two of us escaped somewhere else in the house to steal snacks from the fridge or to kiss in the kitchen until my dad would catch us and force us to return to the backyard where he could see us. 

My dad had been angry when he'd figured out what we were up to and he almost banned me from seeing you, but I fought back. Because first and foremost — I reminded him — you were my best friend. Mom had backed me up. "Let them be kids. But we'll be watching them." So, they made sure to monitor us whenever we hung out. But you would grab my hand when they weren't looking. We'd run down our neighborhood and laugh and talk and kiss some more until I received an angry call from Dad, telling me to get home.

At fifteen, I believed that meant love. And you were my first crush, Wesley. You were my first kiss. But I wasn't yours. 

Ultimately, Wesley, you were my first heartbreak. 

Do you know how heartbreak feels, Wes?

It's as though every part of your heart is shattering. You feel sick to your stomach, because when you're heartbroken, your entire body feels it. It's as though sadness isn't mental, but physical. 

When I got home, you didn't call. Dad had been in the kitchen, staying up late to wait until I got home safe. When he saw my tears, he didn't say a word. Instead, he wrapped an arm around my narrow shoulders and ruffled my curls. I sobbed into my father's chest and he simply sighed.

Sometimes, the best comfort is wordless. 

***

I didn't hear back from you for the rest of that week. July had come around by the time you remembered I existed. I was settled in my outdoor tent, sketching. The zip of the tent door moved to the other end, and I'd watched wide-eyed as you crawled in.

I'd taken up sketching in the week I had without you. I'd always been into art and had endless projects strewn about my room from art classes over the years but I wasn't a self-identified artist by any means. But with your absence, I spent less time worrying and more time drawing.

And then, Wesley Byrne, you stumbled into my life again.