Kindergarden: You were the boy with the black hair and the green eyes that teased me on the playground then asked me to play. I smiled. I always liked G.I. Joes better than Barbies.

First Grade: They say that Boys and Girls don't mix, but I can't see how we're all that different. Still, I suppose this playground culture cannot be ignored.

Second Grade: Learning cursive. Your handwriting is so much better than mine. We don't talk much, but I always see you looking.

Third Grade: We're past the girls have cooties stage. Friends again? I hope so.

Fourth Grade: I'm your size for the first time ever. I like being on an equal footing. I can win the races, wrestle you to the ground- but you know where to tickle me to make me stop. You say that I'm your best friend. I think it's the most important title that I have ever had.

Fifth Grade: We think we're growing older, but it's funny how young we seem. We play at acting like adults. You start dating other girls, and I talk to other guys. Swear words fall casually out of our mouths becauase we think that's how we should talk. We're not little kids anymore, but we still climb up to the treehouse once in a while.

Sixth Grade: Seperated for the first time in a school that's so much bigger. We'll be just as close, you promise. You lied.

I keep to myself. Without you, I'm nothing, but it seems that I needed you much more than you ever needed me.

Seventh Grade: I catch glimpses of you in the halls once in a while, laughing with your new friends. I have my own friends, but mostly, I just blend into the shadows. Do you even know me anymore?

Eighth Grade: You're starting to catch up with me, heightwise. Am I the only one who notices? Apparently not, because all the other girls crowd around you. I stay back, because I'm not sure where I stand with you anymore. I miss you more than ever.

Ninth Grade: You're taller. Your hair falls into eyes that I could look into forever. You are more beautiful than I will ever be.

I see you again in Study Hall. The first class we've had together in years. We try to talk. It's awkward at first, but it gets easier. You want to be friends, and so do I, but can I trust you to mean it? I can't bear to lose you again. You write me notes, and I recognize that handwriting that switches between cursive and print, even after three years.

Tenth Grade: I'm spending more time at your house than at mine. We go for joyrides around town and visit every food joint we can find. We have conversations, some more serious than others, and I feel like we're closer than ever. Other girls don't see me as a threat. Looks like I'm the best friend again, and I value it more then ever. I won't let anything mess this up.

The butterflies? Can't be you. Must be something I ate.

Still, I think that the only time I am truly happy is when I'm with you.

Eleventh Grade: When you touch my hair, or throw your arm around me, or walk me home, I have to wonder if this is how friends treat each other. None of the other guys treat me like this, but we're different, right? Best friends.

I fall asleep in your bed more times than I can count. It's okay though, your parents see me as part of the family. Mine?

Well, mine could care less.

Twelfth Grade: We carry on like we always do, hanging out during the day, partying during the nights. One year, that's all we have left together here. Who knows what will happen after this? The uncertainty of the future scares me more than anything... But somehow, I think the only thing I'll miss about this place is you. Everything else I would leave behind in a heartbeat.

Sometimes during the quieter moments, I worry about how this is going to end. All you worry about me, and I love you for it.

We decide to go the same college. Best friends have to stick together, right?

And by the way? Your girlfriend is a bitch.

Graduation Day: We stare at the school before entering together. We'll never be here as students again. I don't know how to react. After graduation you approach me. You're smiling. So am I, but I'm crying at the same time. I guess that's it, then. We're done. I hug you tightly, and bury my face in your shoulder to hide my tears.

We're by your car again, not drunk, but a little too buzzed to be driving anywhere in the next hour. I look at you and this funny feeling comes over me. My chest tightens. I lean into you and we are quiet, for once.

You drive me home and I linger in your car. You know I don't want to be here, not tonight, not ever, but you'll come pick me up tomorrow. You're looking at me strangely, and I don't know what that expression on your face is. I reach around and give you our customary goodnight hug, just like so many other nights. I start to let go, you hold on to me tightly, before bending your head and kissing me.

Wait, what?! You're my best friend, and you're kissing me, and I'm kissing you back, and oh god, I think I'm melting. The butterflies are back, and apparently they bred like rabbits. It's a good thing your arms are still around me because they just might be the only things holding me up right now. I close my eyes and enjoy the moment.

We break apart, breathing hard for a moment as I bring up my hand to touch my lips. You look away from me. "I'm sorry," you say, "I shouldn't have done that, we're friends, and I-"

I cut you off. "I'm sorry that you didn't do it sooner."

Your nervous chatter stops. The smile on your face matches how I feel right now. You reach down for another before you leaves, and I tangle my hand in your black hair. Your familiar green eyes are thrown into bright relief by the porch light. You turn to go, tossing back a casual, "I'll pick you up tomorrow." You're leaving, and there's a definite bounce in your step.

We're best friends. But somehow, I think I've always been a little been in love with you.

I need a story to turn into a creative writing contest, but I'm not really sure how I feel about this one. It seems a little off to me.

Reviews/comments/thoughts would be greatly appreciated.