I think Iím gonna puke. Sheís cute! Not just cute, sheís Iíd-give-all-my-marbles-just-to-spend-time-with-her cute. Itís getting so I canít even breathe right.
It seemed like just yesterday I thought she was a witch. I was just sure she had a bumper sticker on her car that said, ďMy other carís a broomstickĒ. But today sheís so different. Itís like everything she wasnít yesterday - she is today. It sort of reminds me of onion rings and ice cream. No, sheís much better than onion rings and ice cream. Not as cold and Iíve never heard her crunch.
Sure weíve had our share of troubles. What couple hasnít? But she completes me - and I donít even know what that means.
You may not believe it, but there was a time when I didnít want nothing to do with her (woops, I just remembered I called her a witch - so you already know that). She was always mean to me - if I wanted her to like me, I had to do stuff. I always heard that God loves us no matter what and I wasnít exactly thrilled that she would only like me if I did stuff the way she wanted - but I played her little game and now Iím hooked like my dadís right ear the last time we went fishing.
There were others that started to like her about the same time I did. That didnít make me very happy at all. If you were to fall in love with someone and you found out that at least six other guys suddenly caught themselves drooling on their gym shoes for her - well - it tends to ruin an otherwise perfect day, not to mention your friends have smelly shoes and white junk on their faces.
The worst part has to be that there are times when she doesnít even act like she knows that Iím in love with her. I know that I am because I canít feel my right knee cap. I havenít checked with a doctor yet, but I think thatís a bad sign. Maybe not as bad as a singing spleen, but itís gotta mean something.
Sheís given me stuff to remember her by, she gives me notes almost every day. I love the way she writes my name. It sortía says, ďHey, Bub - wanna get hitched?Ē Someday sheíll cook me breakfast and make sure I never run out of twisted cheese curls, peanut butter and Pop Rocks - three great tastes that taste great together.
She just looks at me and I feel like a piece of bubble gum on the playground in August - you know, the kind you get on your shoe and collects all the gravel between the playground and your house - you get home with a pink boulder on your foot.
Miss Sherlock is so wonderful, if sheíd just give me a chance I know I could make her happy. Iíve got upwards of $12 and a Gameboy. We could probably spend a few years with my parents until I get through fifth grade, but she could help out with the rent, her having a job and all.
I gave her a card for Valentineís Day and Iíll never forget what she said to me, ďThatís sweet.Ē I keep hearing that line over and over in my mind, sheís really got a way with words. Then she gave me a bag filled with those itty bitty candy bars and a popcorn ball - the kind with M&Mís. How did she know it was my favorite? I think sheís been asking around.
I know I promised Tiffany I would marry her last year, but sheís just a girl. Miss Sherlock is so much more. She can drive, most of the time she smells like a flower shop and she can eat out whenever she wants to. The rest of the girls in my class donít usually smell any better than the boys - just one big happy gym locker - except for Miss Sherlock who must have passed all her hygiene classes (I take that back, Sylvia usually smells like Listerine).
Tomorrow, Iím gonna ask Miss Sherlock to go steady with me - if I can remember to breathe when I talk to her. That was really embarrassing when I almost passed out just trying to get a bathroom pass.
Gotta go to bed, Journal. Thanks for listening.
Billy (Ummm, I mean William)
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