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December 15th.
Dear Diary, (this is stupid!)
I bought this stupid diary so I can vent out about…well, me and other spectacular happenings in my everyday life, and this guy. Really, I just want to let things out and my friend Monte put me up to it, he’s a total loser too, by the way…
So there’s this guy at our school, his name is Adam, and he’s gorgeous…well, that’s how the story always starts, doesn’t it? There’s always this guy and he’s unreachable, because he totally is. He’s popular, he sings for the school band, he’s in drama class, he’s like master of the fucking universe in my high school…and get this, he smokes! How badass is that?!
I’ve had this crush on Adam since maybe the third grade when I saw him trip in the playground and he cried like someone stole his candy. I was there, his eyes were misted and round, like whirlpools, and he made eye contact with me: Tommy Joe Ratliff! I was the little brunette in the blue jumpsuit, that’s right. I was pretty badass…not. Miss. Jackson (if you nasty…kidding!) held his little hand and carted him inside. I kind of wanted to hurt myself so we could get Spiderman Band-Aids together but even now I realize how psychotic that idea was.
Long story short, Adam just broke up with his boyfriend of I don’t know…two years, and is on the market again and looking as depressed as ever, and completely tortured soul-like. It is a small chance that something could finally happen for me. We’ve talked, a few times, but it always got interrupted. Always. It’s like fate hates me on grand scale and chooses to mess everything up every time I try and ask him out.
There’s a school Christmas dance coming up soon, he’s not going with anyone and I’m not with anyone (I haven’t ever been, flying solo since like birth), and I’m trying to work up the courage to ask him out before someone else does.
So, tomorrow is the big day and I can’t wait to do it, I’m already sweating, my hands are clammy and I can barely hold my pen, feels like I’m nauseous…I haven’t ever felt like this for a guy before. I kissed one guy, it was last year and his name was Tyler Morris, and it was okay, but I wasn’t picturing him when I had my eyes closed. I was picturing Adam.
God, what it would be like to kiss Adam Lambert. I bet it would be like what heaven to some would feel like. The dreamy romance music would come on, he would wrap me up in his arms, tell me I’m beautiful—okay, not that dramatic, but you’re getting the picture. He would cup my cheek and gaze into my eyes and lower his lips to mine…he would taste like cinnamon, because that’s his favorite gum (I swear I’m not a stalker, I just have info), and it would tingle a little. After that, we would walk hand in hand, skip last period and go make-out in his bedroom while Queen is playing in the background.
…
Adam took his shirt off in front of my window, you see he lives across the street from me, with his mom—his dad died when he was ten—and his curtains were wide open, and he just peeled off his black tank and I saw…everything. I drooled a bucket, but here’s my problem. I think he saw me! I think he caught me looking. I’m so scared. What if he confronts me tomorrow? What would I say to him?
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare, you were just there, in your house…and I was looking…from my house, like a creep and just happened to see you.’
No, pretty sure I would get slapped.
He may have smiled at me.
I think he smiled.
…he didn’t, I don’t think.
Holy shit, mom just shouted at me and said someone is here to see me. Holy shit…Write later!!