The Upside of Unrequited

by Becky Albertalli

I wish there were a secret signal you could use to communicate: HELLO. I AM OFFICIALLY COOL WITH SILENCE.

This is going to sound weird, but I think I need to be rejected. I think I need it like I need a flu shot. Or like those therapists who make you hold snakes until you’re not afraid of snakes anymore. I don’t even know if that makes sense. But I spend a lot of time thinking about love and kissing and boyfriends and all the other stuff feminists aren’t supposed to care about. And I am a feminist. But I don’t know. I’m seventeen, and I just want to know what it feels like to kiss someone. I don’t think I’m unlovable. But I keep wondering: what is my glitch?

I relate to this on a spiritual level.

It’s not like they’re all epic hotties with six packs. They’re just normal people. But I can’t seem to get there. And I can’t shake this thought: I’ve had crushes on twenty-six people, twenty-five of whom are not Lin-Manuel Miranda. Twenty-three of whom are age-appropriate, real-life, viable crush-objects. Eighteen of whom were definitely single and interested in girls at the time of my crush. And I never even tried. Not even with the ones who talked to me first. So, maybe I should let my heart break, just to prove that my heart can take it. Or at the very least, I need to stop being so fucking careful.

Operation be less careful Operation stop worrying about rejection Operation it’s good for me

My new motto.

“But at some point, you have to put yourself on the line. You know?”

What’s the worst that could happen? He’d reject you? So what?

Same.

Because when a tender moment happens between any two people, I turn into an eleven-year-old boy. It is my most consistent talent.

I should smile. I should act normal. I should melt into the floor and disappear.