The all-important first crush. For most of us, that pivotal moment when we realize the smile of a certain someone jumpstarts the butterflies in our stomach. Whether it happened on the sandbox or at Sunday School, we all had that one person who made us notice our feelings

But, funny thing, you’d think a romance author would have tons of personal memoirs about loves from the past. Sadly, I was quite the late bloomer. Don’t get me wrong, I had plenty of crushes on celebrities in elementary school. For me, it was The Hardy Boys and Scott Baio. (Yes, I’m sure some of the younger readers are going to dive onto Google to figure out how old I am.) Yet, as for the real person sitting in the classroom, that would have to wait until junior high school. His name was Kyle and I thought he was dreamy. He had surfer blonde hair and blue eyes. He was popular, with a winning smile and dimples.

And, most importantly, he didn’t know I existed. I watched him from across the math table and sighed. Looking back in retrospect, I was a total chicken. He was only a boy, right? And I was an actress. I’d performed in practically every school play and danced on the stage. This should be a piece of cake. But, instead, I admired him from afar. FOR SIX YEARS.

Yup. Total chicken.

I talked to his friends. I walked by his locker in the morning. But not once did I get enough courage to tell him about my feelings. Why would I? I was a huge nobody in high school. I was a nerd. I played D&D, read comics and was in the chess club. I was a band geek (and not even a cool band geek; I didn’t even play an instrument. I was in the color guard unit) and I was a smack. Which meant I was smart and took accelerated classes. To this day, I never understood where that particular term started. We knew what it meant and we made it our own.

I’m certain by know, due to my overabundance of rather non-PC nomenclature, folks might be making further estimates about my age.

Back to my crush. I think the most important thing about a crush is the distance. It’s that idea of the person we fall for. We imagine the conversations. We pretend what it would be like to go out on a date with them. Hell, I know I’m not the only one who would practice signing my name with a different last name instead of taking notes during science class. But it was safe. There was nothing to destroy the fantasy and it was always all mine.

High school came and went. Not long after graduating, I heard he’d married a girl who graduated a year before us. Was I crushed by my crush? Not really. By that time, in all my covert glances and pining, I watched the two of them together during our junior year. I did hold out hope that he would recognize me for the awesome person I was and he would run into my arms and we’d live happily ever after.

Had I even spoken to him? Well, by this time, I’m sure I had mustered the courage to start saying hello to him in passing. I even had an almost real conversation, too. If by real, you mean something along the lines of such witty banter as: “Hey. Did you study for Mr. Love’s test?”

Yeah. Shakespeare, eat your heart out.

Fast forward twenty years. Since leaving the fantasies of that unrequited love, I went to college. Did a lot of growing up. Officially became a woman. Fell in love with the wrong person. Found the right person. Got married. Started a career. Pursued my passion for all things theatrical and nerdy. Most importantly, I decided I was a pretty okay person.

Now, this pretty okay person is at the dreaded high school reunion. I didn’t attend the ten year, basically because I wasn’t invited. Remember me saying I wasn’t very popular? Yeah, well, I guess some things never change. In truth, the only reason I wanted to attend was to see my closest friend from those long ago days who had since moved to the East Coast, married very old money and was doing very well for herself. That was my main reason for showing up to the big gala dance on Saturday night.

First, I need to set the stage for this. I said I was rather nerdy and still am. The reunion committee didn’t bother to check the busy San Diego city calendar when planning this event, and set the big Saturday night gala event, with fancy dresses and suits, right smack in the middle of one of the largest comic book convention in the world, San Diego Comic Con International. As if that wasn’t bad enough, the chose the set this gala at the hotel directly next to the convention center

Can you see where this is going?

Enter me into the picture. I am actually one of the volunteer staffers who helps to put on this event and have been for years. Am I going to skip any nerdy minute to visit with people I don’t really like? Heavens no. But I did want to see my one friend. So, with my hubby in tow, we left the Con and walked over to the hotel. Keep this in mind; I’ve been working a convention for the past three days and I’m worn out. I arrive in my jeans, a black t-shirt with the melting skull logo of The Punisher and a baseball cap from the soon to be releasing Spiderman movie. Definitely not looking like I belong with the posh people. But I showed up anyway.

I find my friend and we proceed to play catch-up on twenty years just outside the doors in the hallway. People continue to ebb and flow, many of whom say hello and we wave back, responding in kind. After they passed, we would laugh, realizing neither of us remembered who they were. But nothing could have surprised me more than hearing my name called out and the tackle hug I received after turning about.

“Oh my God. You look great! You look just like you did when we were in school,” the stranger exclaims. I give a weak smile in return, but my perplexed look encourages the greeter to add on. “It’s me. Kyle.”

I tried not to have my jaw hit the floor in shock. Kyle? You mean the same Kyle who my beating seventh grade heart lived and died by for a smile? I didn’t even recognize him. Gone were the waves of surfer blond hair and dreamy blue eyes. In fact, he looked, well, average. I searched his face, and my memories, as we continued to chat about the paths of our lives. He was still married to his high school sweetheart and they enjoyed traveling the world. I’m sure there was more, but the mere fact that he knew who I was still refused to become a solid thought in my mind.

We talked a little bit more, then went our separate ways with another hug and the promise of keeping in touch. Do I regret not speaking to him when I had the opportunity? Would things have gone differently? Who knows, but, to this day, I am still certain I’m a pretty okay person and I will always remember that even a high school nobody can leave a lasting impression.