Secretly, I called him Ass. Now I know what you’re thinking: Why would you call someone that? Let me explain…

History class 2009 was extremely boring. The students didn’t care; the teacher didn’t care. Most of the time in class was spent debating, as the teacher was one of three Republicans in the room, or chatting with our friends. As the year went on, I kept noticing this one boy. By this time I had come out to nearly all of my friends, so it was no surprise to anyone, least of all me, when I started to fall for him. He was cute and had an enormous rear end, something I am a fan of.

By the end of April, I was one of his friends. I sat near him in history. We would talk every day. Because of this, I became even better friends with someone we both knew. I was in Biology and Gym with her. I also was in some of her classes the year before, so obviously we were not strangers. The three of us would talk about anything and everything. It was great. She would be talking to us and I would be able to stare at him without it being awkward. Everything was near perfect until one day in May…

She knew the boy I call Ass really well, so I asked her to find out if he would even consider going out with me. I was nervous the rest of that day and the next. He didn’t show up to class. I was afraid he was disgusted at the thought of going out with me. I waited until the next Monday to see what he said.

“What did he say?” I asked nervously; my voice even cracked.

And she said, “I don’t date your type.”

She proceeded to look at me with the most forlorn expression I have ever seen. I have never been that touched to have someone care about me. I quickly muttered a “thanks, anyway” to her before going to my desk where I completely shut down except for one train of thought, what’s wrong with me?

The questions and answers that followed me all day:
Is it because I’m heavier? Because I’m not skinny…
Is it because I’m too flamboyant? Because I am feminine…
Is it because of something I said? Because I tend to say whatever is on my mind…literally.
Is it because I am not good enough? Because…just because.

At the end of the day, I went home and was content to be alone. I took a shower where I did nothing but cry. I was completely worn out from being visibly void of emotion all day, so I did my homework, ate dinner, and went to sleep.

The next morning I decided not to be sad. So many of my friends were wondering what happened to the boy who was always so happy. Again, I felt cared for. I put on a happy face until gym. I was talking with a friend in gym who brought up Ass. I listened quietly and still aching while they complained about his talking about his preferences to only people with darker skin. Needless to say, I was beyond relieved that the rejection really had absolutely nothing to do with me.

Only days later, he got himself a boyfriend. I was happy for him because no one deserves to be deprived of a chance at happiness, regardless of how they treat you. I learned a few things through being friends with him while he had a boyfriend.

The most important: Being rejected can be for the best.