I still have strains of that red nail polish on my pinky finger. It probably won't be there much longer. I was thinking of painting over it with top coat so it would last longer, but that is stupid and sentimental. I know there is no reason I have to stop thinking about him when it comes off, but I did promise myself, and it is the most reasonable course of action.

I guess I am mostly full of anger. Anger at Mia, at him, at myself. “So, Mia, tell me your life story.” The way he said it was genuine, and he leaned forward to hear her shy, muted response. I sat there next to her, and pretended to be interested in their conversation. I wanted to laugh when Emma told him bluntly, “She has a boyfriend.” I wanted to laugh at his pain to take away some of mine.

And still. Twice – twice – on Saturday he started a group hug, and I was right there on his right side both times and got a whole arm wrapped around me, a whole half-hug. And even if it was for the benefit of Mia, standing on his left, it still made me feel nice. And it made me angry. I mean, it made me angry later, looking back on it and seeing how I only saw what I wanted to see and not what was right in front of me, that of course he liked Mia and never even looked my way twice.

I don't even want to write his name down, because that would only spiral downwards into a seventh-grade type obsession. I will only repeat it in my mind. But it is a rather nice name. His last name is the same as that of a fairly famous classical composer. I played the first movement of the composer's first sonata for clarinet freshman year, a piece that looked deceivingly easy and lyrical, but hid secret difficulties.

I have his phone number, and as of right now he is the seventh most recent person I have texted. If you scroll down in my messages further, #8 is Emma, #9 Maddie, and #10 Joseph. Mia stands at #11, mocking me, reminding me there is no hope, really, that every thrill I got from each text message is an illusion, that every heart-in-my-throat vibration is one of the last.

The situation would seem almost funny to an outsider. Perfectly ironic. The person I remember him as at the start is so different from who he is now. He was a latecomer to the season and was so overwhelmingly awkward at the start that I almost immediately blew him off as just another quiet loser. He was extraordinarily thin and pale, in the way only the geekiest of gamer boys can be. When he talked, he stumbled and blushed and forgot words. I wondered, briefly, if he had a crush on me. I was nice to him, but now I wonder if I came across as condescending.

It was only two weeks ago, then, that I noticed his change, but it feels like so much longer. A group of us met outside of practice and the first thing I noticed was that he could actually dress decently. That jeans and a dark blue jacket did much more for his body than shorts and t-shirts. That he looked fairly decent in the dimmer light. That it was okay that he was so thin, because he was also quite tall. That his eyes were a crystal-clear blue. A group of us girls went to go paint our nails for team spirit. He followed, and was the only boy game enough to get his nails done too. They glowed in the dark, gold sparkles. Maddie did my nails in a bright, garish red, and she forgot a topcoat, so the polish started peeling almost the next day.

He made an effort to talk to me even then, but I was tired, and never a very good conversationalist. And other excuses. I regret it now, of course, and if I could turn back the clock I would.

I am bad at love.

The next day, I realized he had somehow grown towards the top of the team's social pyramid, that he was the center of everyone's attention. That somehow this shy, awkward boy had turned into someone everyone admired and loved. Girls like Emma and Maddie crowded around and asked for his phone number. This was also when I realized how much I actually cared for him. Just as he was slipping through my fingers. He was so genuinely nice it was hard not to.

The next week he discovered Mia after they ran together. She was thin, blond, blue-eyed, and slightly awkward and shy too. And one of my closest friends.

“So, Mia, tell me your life story.”

I was sitting by her when he said it, and it took the breath out of my lungs momentarily.

I never expected this to come full circle as it did. Now he will follow Mia around and maybe she will blush and feel truly happy. Maybe she will break up with her boyfriend and they will live happily ever after. As they tell each other happy little life stories, I will sit and make up more of mine.