Dear Kelsey,

In all honesty, you're not really that pretty.

I'm being serious here. I mean, on a scale of Ugly Betty to Jessica Alba, you're somewhere in between Plain Jane and the sexy nerd in that one show you watch every Wednesday afternoon as soon as you get home from school. If you meld Jane's plain and average looks with that one actress' body and bone structure, we'd get you in the flesh. Your pin-straight hair reminds me of warm caramel on your good days, but even on those rare occasions you're not all that stunning. But if I ever said I hate running my hands through your hair every time you fall asleep on my lap when our movie marathons go a little longer than originally planned, I'd be lying. And I'm not a liar. You know that.

Your position on the social ladder is considerably lower than mine. So low, in fact, that you're hardly on the ladder at all. We're so many rungs apart that it could easily be compared to miles or lightyears. Sure, the band members think you're cool and all that, but their opinions don't exactly change this situation a whole lot when you really think about it. I am your only hope for popularity if you want to travel down that path (not that you would). So even now, during our senior year, you're still a wallflower and always will be. Unless, of course, your spaghetti-like arms suddenly gain the ability to lift something other than your AP physics text book and you try out for a sport of some kind. But we both that will never happen. Not in this lifetime, kiddo.

Kel, you don't exactly give me much credit in our weird and completely messed-up friendship. I know you better than you think I do. I mean, every day in school I see you get shoved into lockers, sat on as if someone thought you were invisible, ridiculed for your weird habit of chewing on the end of your glasses, and even made fun of for getting a 103% on your Analysis homework. Again.

You think I don't see you getting tortured on a daily basis, but you couldn't be more wrong.

I notice every time Adam Ridder purposely slams you into the lockers. I've noticed all the times Ivy Morrison stole your homework and turned it in for herself, taking your hard-earned grade away from you and ruining your day in one fell swoop. I even notice the way the other kids wrinkle their nose in disgust at your very presence. It makes me angry every time I see something like this happen. Remember back in our sophomore year when Sam What's-His-Face dumped his lunch tray on you on purpose and snapped your favourite pencil in half just for shits and giggles? I know you noticed that he came to school the next day with a broken nose and a dislocated jaw. You giggled manically when you saw him. (Giggled. You don't giggle, Kelsey. You barely even laugh anymore, let alone fucking giggle.) Anyway, I must admit to you in this (seemingly pathetic) letter that I picked a fight with Sam during gym class that day and went out of my own way to rearrange his face for you. I never told you before now because you're against violence and all that shit, and also because I knew you would ignore me for a week or so afterwards. And I'm man enough to admit that not talking to you for a week would kill me on the inside. But now that two months have passed, I feel like half of my body is missing.

Your eyes remind me of the ocean (not that I've ever actually seen it in person) and you can see through anybody's bullshit when they try to feed it to you. They're so clear, dark, and large that they seem to stir something inside of me every time we lock gazes. Something…weird. I can't really describe it, Kelsey. I really can't. You mess my mind up so badly. So now, every time I try to say something to you, it comes out completely wrong. It was like that two months ago when we had our fight. All I could manage to think about during that horrible moment two months ago was that I needed to get away from you and figure what was going on inside of me without having you as a variable in my life. If I could manage to do that, I'd snatch you back as either a friend or something more if it turned out that that's what I wanted. What I didn't account for in that plan was your feelings and how you would react to the suggestion of our separation. I know I'm really your only friend in the entire school, but I didn't think about that. Like I said, you mess up my mind. Kelsey, you have to know that when I asked you to stay away from me, it hurt me just as much as it hurt you. I didn't even know where it came from, to be honest. I was simply discussing the movie we were watching in the living room of your house, and suddenly you looked at me and I blurted out my shitty plan without a second thought. I don't think I've ever felt as bad as I did when you started crying right in front of me and kicked me out of your house.

"It's okay, Andrew," you had said to me through your tears. "I understand."

I still remember, clear as day, how much I wanted to wipe your tears away and hold you in my arms forever in order to make you feel better. I didn't think that actually seeing you cry would make up my mind so fast, but it did. As soon as you clicked the front door shut and left me out on the front porch, I realized what had been wrong with me since the end of junior year.

I love you, Kelsey. I love you more than words can say. I could write this letter for the rest of my life and go on and on about every little thing I love about you, but I won't because then I'll miss basketball practice again and coach will bench me for tonight's game. And getting benched on the final game of the season would suck pretty badly, you know? Especially 'cause then I'd have to watch you cheer for one of my other teammates. (You said once that all of them were "drool-worthy.") So naturally, I'd get jealous watching you moon over them instead of me and I'd hit a wall like I did at that one game against West Ridge High last month.

So that's why I'm writing this letter to you, sweetie. I'm not paying attention to my astronomy teacher like you think I should. I'm not taking notes for final exams like you think I should. I'm not even listening to Mrs. Deters' boring voice like you think I should. I'm not doing any of those things at all. Instead, I'm writing you this ridiculous letter about my feelings for you and how sorry I really am for shattering our friendship into millions of tiny pieces with only a few words.

But I don't want things to go back to the way they were before our fight. Friendship is good, and I'll take that over nothing on any day of the week, but I want something more than what we originally had. I want something special. Something exclusive and real.

I want you.

I want all of you. I want your sarcastic quips in journalism class. I want your blue eyes to look at me the way I look at you when you pass me in the hallway. I want your trust back again. I want to know how it would feel to have you place searing kisses across my lips on a daily basis for the rest of our lives. There's a pretty big chance that you won't want the same things I want, but I'm willing to take the chance to shove this piece of paper into your hands in case you have a single fucking iota of feelings in return for me. If this message gets me what I want, it will all be worth it in the end. On the other hand, if this pushes you away from me…

Well, let's just say that I really hope you come to the basketball game tonight.

Love,

Andrew

This has the potential to become a TwoShot (which would then proceed to tell about the game after Kelsey gets the letter) or just to leave it up to your imaginations and leave it at this. What do you think?

Review, please!