For as long as I could remember, the background noise of my life had a specific soundtrack: the chaotic chatter of high school hallways, the scrape of chairs in a classroom, and the rhythmic thumping of my own heart whenever he walked into the room. My name is Ana Rose, and if there is one truth that defined my adolescence, it is this: I always had a crush on him.
Having a permanent crush is a strange, bittersweet existence. It feels like carrying a glass jar that is filled to the brim with water; you spend your entire day trying not to spill it, moving carefully, speaking carefully, terrified that one wrong move will shatter the illusion. I became an expert in the art of the "casual glance." I knew his schedule better than my own. I knew that he took his coffee black, that he hated math, and that he had a scar on his left elbow from a skateboarding accident when he was twelve. I knew these things not because he told me, but because I was always watching, always waiting. ana rose i always had a crush on him