There's a girl, I'll call her Britney, although that isn't really her name. This girl and I have had some drama over the past few weeks, and I won't even lie. I've been making it my mission to get this boy (I'll call him Trey), my ex, my first, my second-best friend, to break up with her. One of the reasons is because I know Britney's lies, games, and bitchiness will hurt Trey. Another is because Britney's disrespected me with threats, lies, and personal insults, so naturally I dislike her.

But I'll be perfectly honest: yes, I am just a little bit jealous of Britney. My God, Trey asked her out one fucking day after he and I broke up. I know she is the rebound girl, and that's part of the problem.

Trey was the first boy who ever truly loved me, and his love meant a lot. I will never forget how I felt when he kissed me or we shared an inside joke. His fingertips traced an invisible message on my skin; forest fires, stars, and the number eight formed a secret language in my heart. He saw me naked in a shopping mall bathroom, he said I was beautiful. How could a girl have all that and not feel special?

What hurt the most wasn't the end of our relationship. It was the beginning of theirs, the start of their so-called love. The fact that he could get with such fake, lying bitch, kiss her with the same lips and see her with the same eyes, it makes me rethink the sacredness of what I thought we had. Britney cheapens my memories. She didn't steal my boyfriend, but she did steal some of the self-worth he gave me. Maybe that's the reason all women hate hoes: if the same guy fucks both of us, it makes it seem like we're on the same level.

The only way for me to escape is to quit Trey: stop caring who fucks him, loves him, or hurts him, and walk away from them all with my pride. I can find other guys. I'm a flirty fifteen-year-old girl with a thick figure and a decent face; I know there will be boys who want to be with me. God willing, someday I'll fall in love again. But it's still true what they say: you'll always remember your first, nothing can compare to your first real love. The belief that somehow you are special because a boy's eyes shimmer with awe when he sees you, that illusion can never be duplicated. It can never be replaced.