It was the first day of high school. The day I had been looking forward to for along time. I had picked out three different outfits before settling on a simple pink scoop neck top with blue jeans. As soon as I walked into my Biology class, I immediately regretted my choice. With a shy smile and no place to sit, the last thing I expected to do was make an impression on any boys. But as I walked into Biology, that is exactly what I did. My eyes shot across the classroom, like a spotlight searching for a criminal. I searched for an empty seat. As I desperately desired to shine on a chair, all I saw was a tan hand eager to shake mine and I heard the newly changing squeaky voice saying, “Hi, I am Dylan Ross and I am going to be the next president of the United States of America.”


It wasn’t long before his innocent introduction turned into an innocent young lust. I was young and easily allured by the promise of knowing lots of friends and always having plans on Friday nights. And constant dinner and movie dates were not half bad either. But as time went on and the months began to pass, I began to grow bored with the whole teenage relationship. I was bored of the sweaty palms touching mine. I was bored his shallow humor. I was bored of going to places I had no interest in going and bored of talking to a boy that I had nothing in common with. From the outside looking in, it was a picture perfect romance, but for me it was awkward and draining. So I came up with a master plan.
Let me just say, there are two sides to every story. It sounds a lot more painful and cold hearted than I intended it be. What was I suppose to do? End it as he walked me to class, or right before we left my front door to go see a movie, as he drops me off? I could say, “Oh, thanks for the fancy dinner and nice movie, but you might want to make other plans next weekend because you certainly will not be taking me out!” That just sounds rude and humiliating. So in an effort to ensure minimal embarrassment for both parties involved, I typed up a few sentences and sent a text that ended our teenage romance that I had been so over for so long. I sent it to him after school when I knew he would be practicing golf to spare myself a few hours of single and blissful peace before I was throw in back into my reality of chaos of the aftermath of my actions. He, of course, had to be the overdramatic girl in the relationship and he played his part up to par by telling everyone all about our break-up before I even had the chance to delete my inbox.
After all was said and done- or should I say wrote and done- he refused to talk to me. I was not expecting to be best friends with the future politician, but at least an acknowledging smile would have been nice. But judging by his actions after the last text, I was sure I had done the right thing. We were not on the same page during the relationship- I do not know why I thought we would after I ended it. Teenage dating just was not for me and apparently neither was teenage break-ups.