“Well….I…uh…” What could I say? I was skipping class because I was too tired of trying to figure out where it was? However, her expression told me that she already knew the answer, so I deemed she was worthy of an honest reply. “Nowhere.”

“Come on,” was her order while walking away.

It was a simple command. Two words that I should’ve been able to easily ignore. Somehow though, I found myself following her footsteps, all the way down the hall and out the door.

The car ride was surprisingly not as awkward as it could have been. We fell into light conversation about various, everyday topics. What surprised me the most was the girl’s apparent attitude toward things. She seemed to know the answer to everything, but was always searching for something new to discover. Confidence radiated from her, and somehow it almost provided a sense of comfort. I felt at ease being around this girl, despite the fact that she was some random stranger.

“So, skipping class on the first day of school?’ She had finally brought the conversation back to its origin.

“Actually it’s my second,” I replied. “But I just couldn’t handle getting lost anymore.”

Her expression showed that she somehow understood, like she had been there before. But apparently that didn’t mean she was done asking questions. “What’s your name newbie?”

“Spencer.” I suddenly felt very nervous.

“Well, if your gonna skip school, I would suggest starting before last period.” Her smile lightened the mood, and it seemed that the interrogation was over.

The rest of the day with her was amazing. She spent the afternoon showing me around and informing me on the hottest spots. It felt so easy talking with her that it was almost as if we had already known each other from before. Then there was her smile. I couldn’t get enough of it no matter how much I tried; the way her nose wrinkled up, or how she would smile brighter than the sun every time she laughed. With each joke and funny comment, my heart would beat out of my chest and melt at her feet. And this is why I am terrified.

I know this feeling, but I can’t accept it. My day with her was one of the best that I’ve had in a long time. I haven’t felt this happy or alive since the move. But my fear causes me to deny the truth in that statement. This same fear that makes me feel guilty for the butterflies that swarmed my stomach during our last conversation before she dropped me off. As I jumped from the car onto my front lawn, I informed her quickly before shutting the door, “You never told me your name.”

“It’s Ashley.” And with that, I was left to stand there outside my house as the sound of her car faded into the distance.

Her voice gives me goose bumps. Her eyes make me quiver, and her smile makes me melt. But I deny this reality. I pretend that this feeling doesn’t exist, and as I step into my house, spotting my mother in the kitchen I am reminded why. This cannot be who I am.

And so that term describes me. I protect myself, curling into a dark confinement. There is a closet to which I hide, hoping one day to breathe fresh air. Maybe someday there will be someone there to open the door.