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They say you never get over your first crush.
I’ll admit it to you, now, that it was definitely a crush.
If you’d asked me, then, I’d have said it wasn’t a crush. Certainly not.
(If you’d asked me, then, there are a lot of questions I’d have lied in answer to. I hope you’d have forgiven me. For a few of them, at least, I was lying to myself, too.)
Maybe I’d have told you I admired him. Which was certainly true. I admired him for how he ran for—and won—Head Boy, not just despite but because of who he is. How he took on the administration and worked so hard to create a Pride Club at Truham, a school that was in many ways only barely ready for one.
(I admired him for his effortlessly curly hair, too, and his dimples, and how tall he was, and how he always seemed to look cool even in those seriously frumpy uniforms they made us wear, and… I digress.)
Not just him, of course. His boyfriend, and Mr Ajayi, and Coach Singh, and everyone who did so much to make it a less scary place, I’m grateful to them all.
I certainly was grateful, that first time, in the hallway, when the Year 10s had me cornered, and he drove them off. I’ll never forget it.
“You okay? What was that all about? Were they picking on you?”
I was so grateful that I ran away, as fast as my little (at the time) legs would carry me. That’s right, it was because of my gratitude. Not because I was shy, or ashamed that I couldn’t defend myself, certainly not.
(And not because I didn’t like the other thoughts that bubbled up somewhere inside me if I looked at him too long. If he caught me staring at him while he put up posters, and I felt myself turn a nonsensical color as I ducked behind the corner. Not at all.)
I stared at the posters too. Say No to Bullying 🚫. Clear and effective, unlike every thought I’d ever had while he was around.
Something in me didn’t think I deserved it. The bullying, of course, but also his help. He, the famous Charlie Spring, spent his time, time that he could spend, I don’t know, changing the world or snogging his boyfriend or whatever, he spent it noticing me.
I knew it wasn’t for the same reasons I noticed him. But still, that other time, he scolded them away with an,
and then turned to me, his face suddenly no longer stern, but open and full of care, and asked if I was okay (who else had ever asked me that?). I had to confront the fact that he noticed my existence.
Of course, when he introduced himself, “Hi Alfie. I’m Charlie.” I mortifyingly answered, “I know!!” like I’d been watching him in the hallways for literal months or something. And of course, being cool Charlie Spring, he didn’t even flinch. He told me that he was on my side, that he wouldn’t let the bullying continue.
And guess who ran away again. Out of gratitude. Definitely gratitude, that’s it.
It was that same gratitude, I swear, that led me to attend that first Pride Club meeting. I knew he would be there, and I went to try to thank him, to say, ‘you don’t have to,’ to say, ‘you have better things to do than watch out for me.’
And maybe to have an excuse to be in the same room as him for thirty minutes on a Thursday.
But when I took that deep breath and asked, “Is this… the Pride Club?” he smiled so warmly (how does his smile look like that?), and invited me in, and offered me a cookie. Then others were arriving, so the spirit of merriment and welcoming conversation and that first moment of we’re making change took over. I didn’t get to tell him what I was going to tell him, but by the end of that first thirty minutes, I no longer needed to.
(Chocolate chip is still my favorite.)
I went to every one of the meetings, his meetings. I was still crushing on him hard, but his boyfriend (nowadays, obviously, his husband) was so nice to me that I felt guilty, on top of already feeling way out of my depth.
I got really good at squashing all that down, at taking a breath and saying something normal, some line of regular-people conversation that I definitely wouldn’t replay over and over in my head for at least a week until the next Pride Club meeting, when I’d get another chance to act like a human who wasn’t in the same room as the coolest person ever to walk through Truham’s doors.
Later, once he’d graduated, once I was taller, with new glasses and less baby face and more confidence in myself, I ended up running the club. So I guess they became my meetings, in the end.
Don’t you dare tell him all this, by the way. This stays between us.
In any case, it doesn’t matter now.
It hasn’t mattered since a year and change after that first club meeting. The start of the new school year, when new kids would be added to our vertical forms. The one who was previously next to me had moved on to Sixth Form, so I’d braced myself for whoever would get reshuffled to my table, probably a new student. I wasn’t surprised when I heard our teacher say, “I’ve sat you next to Alfie, he’s a couple years above you but I think you’ll get along.”
I was surprised, though, when I looked up and, impossibly, a fresh, updated version of Charlie Spring was walking towards me.
He wasn’t exactly Charlie, of course. He had the same epic curls, and the same dimples, but he was softer, as though someone had sanded down Charlie’s sharp angles. His smile was so big, like it didn’t quite fit onto his face. And as he bounced over to my table (our table, oh gosh), he had an energy that Charlie only seemed to have when something really amazing happened, like when he announced that the school had agreed to let the Pride Club continue, or when he noticed Nick walk into the room.
And New Charlie’s voice was different, a little louder but a little lighter, when he pulled out the chair and said “Hi!”
“Hi,” I managed to reply, my brain still trying to process how My Biggest Crush Of All Time 2.0 (Now with bonus features like ‘excessive radiance’ and ‘age-appropriateness’!) was sitting down next to me, kicking his bag under the table.
I realized I was staring, unblinking, when he leaned in a little closer and asked, “Are you okay?”
“Um, yeah. Hi.”
“You said that already.” And he giggled, something I don’t think I’d ever witnessed Charlie do. Yet another feature I absolutely had to experience again. “I like your glasses. I’m Olly!”
And, from that moment, I never got over my second crush.
But, as you know, I didn’t have to.