Romantic clichés were my greatest weakness. I would spend hours on end at my computer, looking up new stories to read on various websites, all under the category "Romance". I was not an open-minded reader, though; my eyes would sift through each title and summary, ruling out any that were under fantasy, science fiction, horror, or supernatural. Usually, I would end up with stories that were romantic humor.

People were always eager to read stories where the plot and ideas were original, and many scoffed at tales with trite plotlines and predictable outcomes. I, however, did not look for original. I essentially tried to find stories with happy endings, where the girl and the boy lived happily ever after. It upset me whenever one of the two people died, or if one of them ended up marrying another person who was so clearly not the one for him or her.

Clichés were hated in the world of media, from the big screen to the tiny printed words on a piece of paper. The critics wanted unique innovation; I just wanted a story with well-developed characters, a fairly detailed plot, and, of course, the predictable conclusion where everything that went wrong was resolved. So what if the Disney movies were unrealistic and taught little kids nothing of real life? Life was depressing enough even without those gloomy movies where everyone died at the end. Watching a romantic comedy where the girl gets the guy at the end always made my heart feel funny. It was a strange feeling, as though my heart were going to twist into a thousand pieces. But it did not, by any means, signify a broken heart. I just figured that it was probably my heart expressing its satisfaction at seeing yet another couple making it through impossibly difficult problems to conquer the world.

My favorite cliché was the enemy-turned-lover one. The girl and the boy would despise each other at the beginning for a variety of different reasons. The writer may choose which scenario—there were plenty, to be sure! Maybe they used to be best friends, but then one of them became popular, leaving the one to be the school loner. Another possibility could be that the girl thought the boy too conceited. Perhaps the two simply had opposing personalities that made it nearly impossible for them to get along. Whatever their history, the girl and the boy would somehow, along the journey known as life, realize that they were meant to be, and bam. They would get married, pop out a couple of kids (or five, depending on how close their relationship became), and grow old together.

Again, I know. The stories were too cliché to even begin to exist in real life, especially the ones that took place in high schools. Really, how do sixteen-year-olds even understand the concept of love for another human being that was not a direct relative? Exactly, they do not, for what they believe to be love is really just the natural process of adolescence, when hormones are the reason for every out of the ordinary action teens make.

However, it was not true that some parts of romantic clichés did not exist in actuality. In fact, I have my own sort-of cliché story. It wasn't exactly like the ones that I loved to read, and maybe it wouldn't have the ending where all went right with the world. But it was still, though cliché at parts, all mine…

At school, I was not known as the incurable romantic—not even close. I was known as the untouchable girl, the one that no guy ever dared to ask out. The strange part was that I did not even bring it upon myself. I was pleasant enough unless angered, and I had a nice group of friends. Perhaps, though, I always gave boys the impression that I was an ice queen. I never did have time for them, anyway. I spent most of my life juggling between schoolwork, sports, clubs, and community service. Saying that my life was hectic and my schedule was full was equivalent to stating that whales were fairly large. In other words, yes, I did have an extremely hectic life, a schedule full to the brim, and whales, indeed, were enormous.

One day, maybe in early April or so, I was frantically searching for my copy of Macbeth, which had mysteriously disappeared from my backpack yesterday afternoon. My locker was at the bottom level, which did not accommodate my five-foot-six height; consequently, I had to kneel down whenever I used it. On top of that, it was rush hour time, where the hallways were jammed with students of every grade, elbowing one another in order to get to their respective destinations. At two-thirty in the afternoon, our high school was certainly a fine example of a dog-eat-dog world.

The first cliché came just when I had found my book, which had been lodged in the far back of the locker, between two old notebooks that looked as though they were from another millennium. I felt my tension ease away, as I clutched the book as if it were gold. After all, I did need it for my English class, so it was a relief to have found it. Just when I was placing it into one of the small zipper compartments of my bag, I felt my foot shift slightly from its position. Before my brain could even react, a seemingly bulky object was launched right on top of me, sending me sprawling to the floor.

"What the hell?" I screeched loudly, trying to move my joints.

Slowly, I began to feel the pressure lessening on my body, and the ability to feel my fingers came back. I looked up and found a tall boy looking rather awkwardly down at me.

"Sorry," he apologized quickly. "Are you all right? I swear, I didn't mean to push you like that. See, I'm not very coordinated, and when you add the fact that there were about three hundred people packed into one little area, disaster is inevitable."

I blinked. He had said everything in a matter of seconds, and I barely caught on to his words. "It's okay…Russ."

Before the story continued, I had to add in some background information. Russ—his full name was Russell—Baker was fairly well known in my grade. He was a brilliant student, especially in Math, where his natural talents lay. He was also an athlete who played on the soccer and lacrosse teams at school. So it was no surprise that I was completely mystified as to why he had said that he was "not very coordinated".

He and I were not friends; in fact, the only reason why I even knew his name was because my friend Erin had her eye on him for about a week until she gave up and began pursuing someone else. We did not have that much in common. He had his fair share of girlfriends, while I generally avoided the opposite sex. We were both model students, yes, but I always felt inferior around him, especially in Math class, where he would stun the teacher and his classmates with his overwhelming facility at grasping new concepts. I admitted that I did envy him a little.

So, it was my first experience with a romantic cliché, and one that I was rather fond of as well: the clichéd crash. The boy and girl somehow collide into one another, though circumstances differed, and then became aware of the other's existence. Soon they would start talking to each other, become friends…and then realize one day that they were in love with each other. It was a scenario commonly used by romance writers.

At that time, though, I did not think of my experience as an event taken right out of a chick lit novel. I was too stunned to even think right, for Russ was certainly not undersized. He was at least six feet tall, and even though he had a slim build, he was not light in weight. I did notice, though, his polite way of offering his hand to me, since I was still sitting on the ground. I accepted gratefully, and felt myself being heaved up as if I were as light as a feather—which, by the way, I was not.

"So—uh—are you all right?" He still had a guilty expression on his face.

I smiled. "Yeah, I'm fine. It was more surprising than anything else, really. It's not every day you have a guy fall on top of you."

Russ laughed, his cheeks red. "Not to mention a very attractive one."

I raised an eyebrow. "A bit full of ourselves, are we?"

"I don't know. You tell me, since you included yourself in the 'we' part."

"Touché." I couldn't keep a straight face any longer. Never had I realized that there was a witty side to Russ. He always seemed either excruciatingly egotistical of his overall abilities or unnervingly serious.

Now that I looked back on the incident, I was astounded at how blind I was then. The most obvious cliché of all hung right above my head, and yet I was completely oblivious. My story was a slightly different version of the Popular-Boy-Meets-Average-Girl plotline. A well-liked boy notices the average girl, and then becomes interested in her. The girl is initially baffled by his excessive attention toward her, but then soon realizes that she belongs with him. It was a nice, hackneyed sketch of a more complex romance, but not one of my favorites. The Popular-Boy-Meets-Nerd-Girl was better, although the whole idea of crossing social classes in the name of love never appealed to me. I still held strong to the love-hate relationships.

It would have been extremely passé if Russ had decided then and there that I was his soul mate. It would have also been equally corny if I had suddenly swooned at the mere sight of him and announced to the whole world (or at least school) that I was in love. None of those scenarios occurred, of course. We merely bade good-bye to each other and went off with our separate lives. I did not think too much of the slightly bizarre episode, and forgot about it after I realized that I had to work on an English paper and study for a Chemistry test.

The next day, though, my mom dropped me off at school as usual, and I sauntered up the front steps, taking slow, deep breaths to calm my nerves. First period was Chemistry, and I had a major test that covered three chapters worth of information. It was practically a mid-term, and I felt my heart rate increasingly significantly as I reached my locker.

"Just breathe," I muttered to myself, as I slowly turned the wheel of the lock to the proper combination. "You'll do fine; you've studied for weeks…"

"Worried?" A voice from behind startled me, which caused my usual clumsy self to drop all my books. "Oops. Didn't mean to scare you there. But don't worry about the Chemistry test. You'll do great as always."

"As always?" I echoed. "You're the one who's brilliant in everything."

Russ frowned, and bent down slightly to help me retrieve my fallen possessions from the floor. "Very untrue. I've gotten a string of C's on the lab reports that we've handed in so far. And I got a C on the last test. So I'd appreciate it if you'd stop being so judgmental when you clearly don't know what goes on in my life."

He sounded a little bitter, making me feel guilty about my words. After all, they were a bit harsh, and he was right: I was too judgmental, especially with people whom I suspected were better than me. I was, though, a bit staggered over Russ's behavior. He was usually a calm person, always having a friendly and pleasant demeanor. I wasn't sure whether to be flattered or not that he had shown me that he was actually human; that, yes, indeed, he was capable of anger just like normal people, instead of always staying a watermelon (usually people use the cucumber analogy, but I refuse—my affinity for clichés is only limited to romance).

However, my thoughts were shattered when Russ started babbling. "Oh, gee, I hope I didn't offend you or anything. I can't do anything right these days!" The bell rang, signifying the beginning of first period. "Great, now I'm going to be late. Uh, see you later." He dashed off, leaving me at my locker, feeling even more stunned than before.

First period ended beautifully. I knew all the information that was tested, and I even finished early, which was a feat, considering the fact that I was usually the last one out the door on test days. The rest of the day passed uneventfully, except for lunchtime, when my friends pestered me about Russ and made ludicrous conjectures of us as a couple.

"He is so cute," sighed Erin dreamily, "even if he is not my type at all. But it's so obvious that he likes you. Man, why do you always get everything?"

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "I don't. Russ and I are not together by any means. He even freaked out at me today."

I told them the story of what happened right before first period, but my friends were adamant and even went so far as to say that it further proved that he liked me. A guy that didn't act like himself around a girl was evidently crushing on her. No argument.

After school, I was at my locker once again, taking the books that I needed for the night. As I grabbed the last book, I felt a human presence, and turned around. Sure enough, Russ was standing behind me again, this time looking sheepish.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"Listen, I'm sorry for totally losing my cool earlier today. I was just a little stressed, that's all, and I didn't get enough sleep the night before."

"Hey, don't worry about it," I heard myself reply. "You're only human, after all."

He looked visibly relieved. "So, um, I was wondering, actually, if you wanted to, you know, hang out this weekend."

It was only Tuesday. I raised an eyebrow. He was staring down into my eyes, waiting for a response. I noticed that he was slightly bouncing up and down on his toes, and twisted his hands. It was rather odd to see him in such anxiety.

I finally spoke, and asked perhaps one of the most cliché questions in the entire world of romance fiction. "You mean like a date?"

"Uh…sort of. No, wait." He stopped when he saw the astonished look on my face. "It doesn't have to be, if you don't want it to be. You don't even have to agree at all. In fact, I think that it was a stupid idea. Sorry. Um, see you later." He was about to dash off when I made the impulsive decision to stop him.

"Don't," I said gently. "I didn't mean to scare you into thinking that I didn't want to hang out with you. In fact, I think I would really like it if we could get together this weekend."

Russ smiled, and I felt my heart beating just a little faster at how that grin of his lit up his whole face, accenting his neatly trimmed eyebrows and his brilliantly colored eyes.

"So, is it a date?" he ventured, looking uneasy again.

I knew that the next thing that I said would alter the relationship between the two of us. However, I also knew exactly what to say so that the both of us would perhaps get the better end of the deal. "If you want it to be."

He nodded his head. "I do want it to be—and I have for a long time, too." Russ paused, and smiled again. "See you later, Mae."

All right, I had to admit that my story was barely even a story at all. I did, though, accomplish at least one thing: Russell Baker knew my name. It may seem insignificant, but it wasn't—at least, not to me. The weekend was only a few days away, and the possibilities of our first date were infinite. I had no idea what would occur. One of the biggest clichés of all was the fact that we were on a date when we hardly knew each other. The fact was, while clichés were predictable, the events that stemmed from them were not. Maybe Russ and I would decide that we were not meant to be after the first date. On the other hand, perhaps we would go on more. Who knows…we may end up married in the suburbs with three kids and a pet rat. The options were wide open, so I just had to be patient to wait and see the path chosen for me.

Author's Note: Okay, kind of a lame story, but it popped into my head and I decided, hey, why not, I'll write whatever comes to my mind. Some of this is true...well, actually, most of it's fiction, but I do love romance clichés :)