When I was ten years old, I had a secret crush on my classmate, Julie. This is our class photo from 1984:
There's Julie, in the pink dress. We never once traded a word.
Throughout forth grade, my mom dropped me off at school an hour early, before most kids arrived. I would wait outside my classroom, and that was where the following true story occurred.
That's me, in the checkered blue shirt:
That morning, I saw someone walking down the street, toward where I stood.
Panicked, I had two options:
I ran and hid.
I leapt out from behind the bush and waved back happily.
To commemorate this traumatic incident, I crocheted these two yo-yos:
They're weighted down with polyfill and embarrassment, which is why they don't bounce back like toy yo-yos.
Since forth grade, I've learned to accept that secret crushes are accompanied by fleeting highs and humiliating lows.
But I do wish I brought along a yo-yo that morning. I might have impressed her with my fancy tricks: