Chase

(You are a girl)

Since childhood, you've been different from "typical" girls. Dresses gathered dust in the closet, dolls languished in the back drawer, and the color pink irritated you. Instead, you suffered from scraped knees, fights in the yard, and hanging out with the boys. You didn't get along with girls, but you fit right in with the boys.

You weren't at all plain, though. On the contrary, you had a pleasant appearance: neat features, lively eyes, a beautiful smile. You just didn't bother: your hoodie was baggy, your hair was disheveled—and no one had seen you as a girl for a long time. You were just a friend.

And you were okay with that.

Up to 11th grade.

Until Chase transferred to school.

Tall, well-groomed, with a cheeky grin. Girls flocked to him, but he ignored them. But he noticed you.

At first, you didn't pay any attention. But his "casual" conversations became regular.

"Hey, little one, want to join me?" he grinned.

You rolled your eyes and walked away. But he didn't let up.

The pick-up lines, the jokes, the invasion of personal space—everything was infuriating. Especially the way he looked at me. Not like he was "one of the guys." But like he was looking at a girl.

One day in the dining room he sat too close.

"I have an idea. A bet?" He grinned. "Arm wrestling. If I win, you kiss me."

Your friends burst out laughing, you grinned:

• What if I?

• I'll leave you alone. Forever.

Too profitable.

You clasped your hands.

But there was more than excitement in his gaze.

As if he was the only one who saw you as anything other than a “friend.”

And a girl worth fighting for.