Love is a like a carton of milk the week before it expires; it doesn’t always taste quite right, but if you want it bad enough, you make it work.

The day was hot, but not as sticky as it had been. A slight breeze combed itself through the trees and made the heat a little easier to bear. I bounced into the ninth grade classroom and immediately started to push the tables to the edges of the ant-filled classroom turned stage. This was our version of an amphitheater, and it was perfectly imperfect just like the rest of the school. I didn’t join the other students as they slipped off their shoes or designer flip-flops. My knockoff converse clung to my feet with self-consciousness. The teacher arrived, Daniella, her hair was pulled up into an effortlessly messy bun, and her clothes were in style, but not unoriginal. She coerced us into a sad excuse of a circle, so that we could do the warm-ups. I seemed to be the only one enjoying it, but that didn’t hinder my happiness. We started to play a game, where a group of 3 or 4 people group together in a tableau to represent a fairytale of some sort. The group I was in decided upon picturing Rapunzel. When it came time to assign roles, I offered to play the part of the evil witch, figuring that they wouldn’t want to let the new girl be a good role.

     The first time I really noticed Warrick Iomnis was at this moment.

     He spoke up in his lively yet slightly husky voice, “Why don’t we have Carrie play the witch? I think it might be a better idea to have Jenna play Rapunzel.” My freckled cheeks burned with a complicated mixture of pride at fitting in, and embarrassment because I looked nothing like a princess. My hair was forever a tangled nest of dark brown, almost black, my skin was pale, but not in the desirable sort of way, in the pasty sort of way, and I was too  short and physically awkward to be appealing. So, why would an attractive boy-man like Warrick suggest for me to play the princess?

     It got even better, “I want to be the Flynn!” No one opposed since he was the only male in the group. In other words, he wanted to pose as the prince to my princess. Butterflies made themselves at home in my stomach. We got into our pose when it was time for our group to “perform.” Warrick extended his arms out to me as I gazed down at him from my spot standing on a table. His eyes smoldered with feigned love, and my eyes twinkled back with something that was less than fake. Maybe he feels the same, I thought hopefully.

     As time went on we got closer as friends. Warrick often invited me to play third-wheel to him and Crystal, his girlfriend. I don’t think that he realized how awkward that was for her. Now I know what you’re thinking, why would Crystal be awkward when Jenna is the one suffering from unrequited love? Well, while Warrick and I would be conversing easily, Crystal would sit in the corner listening to her iPod or doodling. I think that she could tell that I shared more chemistry with her dreamily perfect partner than she ever would. Warrick and I were having one of our many semi-romantic moments during a rehearsal with our chorus when I found out the news.

     “Nice look!” Warrick teased, biting his lip like he knows that I do when I like someone. I punched his arm playfully.

     “How dare you compliment me!?!? You are in a committed relation ship!” I gasped, covering the showy, low-cut neckline of the dress I was wearing. If only the compliment had been real…

     He pulled me into a strong embrace and whispered in my ear, “We broke up over winter break.” My cheeks flushed, and not just because he was so close that I could feel the warmth of his breath on my neck. I promised myself that I wouldn’t dwell on his newborn singularity. It didn’t take long before I broke the promise. Who could blame me? The boy-man that I had been crushing over for months was finally single! Not that I had a chance or anything, but still!

     After that, we started hanging out more. Warrick had entered into a slam poetry competition, so, naturally, I went to support him. His words were eloquent and bare as he spoke of the art of love and war. The room was saturated with Warrick’s views, trials, and triumphs. As he exited the stage, all I wanted was to run up to him and have his full attention, as I congratulated him, but that was a lost cause following any performance of his. The fans and family swarmed him, making me feel like a tired groupie because they didn’t know me. We couldn’t possibly be that close if his family didn’t even know my name. It burned as a fire of longing in my chest as I walked home.

     A week later Warrick invited me to the shooting range, and against my better judgment, I accepted.

     “Two Fort 17s, please. Oh, and can we get a private target?” Warrick asked, stepping up to the counter. He removed his arm from my shoulders to pull out his wallet. The dusky air crept through the tattered material of my favorite hoodie. The man behind the counter handed him the semi-automatics and the tag for lane 16. Warrick grabbed my hand and pulled me to the targets.

     I was placing the earmuffs on my head when he spoke up, “My father was at the slam.”

“And?”

“He said he was proud.”

     Tears brimmed on his eyes. His dad was a professional writer and poet. Warrick admired him above all and was always trying to make him proud. At first I thought this was sweet, but then I realized the complications of their relationship. His dad rarely had time for him, and when he did it wasn’t filled with hugs and affection, but rather, writing critique and judgment. Warrick wasn’t so much trying to make him proud, as searching for conformation from a father he longed to know.

“Of course he was! You were amazing!” I said, slipping the muffs over my ears. The handgun was cool and dangerous in my hand, but it was the danger that I loved most, a feeling that Warrick shared with me. He shot a few times, looking dark and powerful, and the bullets easily found the “X” over the chest of the human shaped target. I took a deep breath, aimed, and fired with an exhale. The shot was decent, finding home in the lower gut, but not my best. I tried again and missed the target entirely.

“Wow! You’re doing great!” He exclaimed with a barking laugh.

“Screw you.” I replied with a glare.

“Yes please!” Warrick countered, squinting with mock seduction.

     We left the range and stopped at a 7-11 for a slurpee on the way back to my house. I thought about how sweet he had been the last few months, maybe it was a sign. We sat on the curb, enjoying the sugary slush. My mouth took on a mind of its own.

“I like you.” I said in a rush.

“I like you too, you’re a great friend.” He replied.

“No, War, as more than friends…”

“Oh, wow… that’s great! I’m honored!”

     That’s all. He didn’t feel the same, and never would. We are still best friends though. His not returning the feelings made me realize, maybe sometimes “prince charming” isn’t going to love you back romantically, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you. I have since come to peace with that, as I said in the beginning, if you love them enough, you make it work.