literature

First Love

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Literature Text

    She likes me. That was all I could think about, staring down at my math homework. She wants to date me.
    I put pen to paper but the numbers and variables couldn't register in my brain through the overwhelming happiness. With my free hand I clutched the pendant hanging from my neck - a rose quartz necklace she had given me for my 15th birthday just a week before. My chest tightened and my stomach squirmed every time I thought of her and what she'd said, a high-pitched squeal rising in the back of my throat. Dropping my pen (a black Bic for women pen - why do we need a special pen, anyways?), I fell backwards against my pillows, unfolding my legs and stretching them out over the books and papers. I closed my eyes as I rolled over and buried my face in a soft pillow, the fabric muffling the sound as I released a squeal.
    She liked me. And that was all that mattered.
Re-posting this since I deleted it
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