Loveless

by Alice Oseman

“We can make out if you want.”

I had a theory that a lot of people’s “celebrity crushes” were faked just to fit in.

The thought of actually following through on the crush made me feel extremely nervous.

“I want someone to spontaneously perform a song to declare their love for me.”

“God, I am sad, gay, and alone.”

I was a dreamer, maybe, who liked to yearn and believed in the magic of love.

All I had to do was wait, and my big love story would come. I would find the one. We would fall in love. And I’d get my happily ever after.

He was the first person I met who I could sit quietly with and it wouldn’t feel awkward. I didn’t feel like I had to try to be funny and entertaining with him; I could just be me, and he wouldn’t dislike me because of it.

“I’ve never kissed anyone,” I announced. When I said it, I didn’t think I was saying anything particularly odd. Like, this wasn’t a teen movie. Virgin-shaming wasn’t really a thing. Everyone knew that people did these things when they were ready, right? But then the reactions began. There were audible gasps. A pitying “aww.” Some of the guys started laughing and one of them coughed the word virgin.

I glanced at Tommy, and even he was looking at me with sympathy, like I was a little kid—like I was a child who didn’t understand anything.

Hattie pressed her hand to her heart and stuck out her bottom lip. “You’re so pure.”

I nodded at him, and he said, “Oh my God,” like I was disgusting or something. Was I disgusting? Was I ugly and shy and disgusting and that was why I hadn’t kissed anyone yet?

I hadn’t realized. I hadn’t realized how behind I was. I’d spent so much time thinking that my one true love would just show up one day. I had been wrong. I had been so, so wrong. Everyone else was growing up, kissing, having sex, falling in love, and I was just … I

was just a child.

And if I carried on like this … would I be...

It sent a sort of shock wave through my spine. Like, wow, OK. I forgot people actually did that in real life. It was fun to read about in fanfics and see in movies, but the reality was kind of just like, Oh. Yikes. I’m uncomfortable, get me out of here.

Honestly, I loved the idea in theory—having a sexy little adventure in a dark room in someone else’s house with someone you’ve been on-and-off flirting with for a couple of months—but the reality? Having to actually touch genitals with someone? Ew.

I guess it took time for people to be ready for stuff like that. And you’d have to find someone you felt comfortable

with. I’d never even interacted with anyone I wanted to kiss, let alone...

This was the first time I had talked to Tommy in my life.

I’d always felt sort of nervous when he was nearby. I figured this was because of the crush.

This all felt weird. Tommy had been my crush for seven years. He was talking to me. Why wasn’t I jumping for joy right now?

I figured school romance was the most likely one that would happen to me, but now that the possibility of it happening was more than zero, I was freaking out. Like, heart racing, sweating, hands shaking freaking out. This was what crushes felt like, so this was normal, right? Everything was totally normal.

As he spoke, he put his hand on the top of my chair, so his hand was weirdly close to my face. I don’t know why that made me feel so uncomfortable. His skin was just there, I guess.

Now that he was so close, I was struggling to even see what exactly I’d been attracted to for seven years.

I could tell that he was conventionally attractive, like you can tell pop stars or actors are attractive, but nothing about him really made me feel butterflies. Did I know what butterflies felt like? What exactly was I supposed to be feeling right now?

“That’s all right. Quiet girls are nice.” What was that even supposed to mean? Was he being creepy? I couldn’t tell.

I could see every single moment of it in my head. The simple route. The easy way out. I could do that, couldn’t I?

“It’s OK,” he said. “I know you haven’t kissed anyone before.” The way he said it was like he was talking to a newborn puppy. “OK,” I said. It irritated me. He was irritating me. This was what I wanted, wasn’t it? A cute little moment in the dark?

“Everyone has a first kiss eventually.

It doesn’t mean anything. It’s OK to be new at, like, romance and all that.” New at romance? I wanted to laugh. I’d been studying romance like an academic. Like an obsessive researcher. Romance would be my Mastermind topic.

“Georgia …” Tommy leaned in close, and then it hit me. The disgust. A wave of absolute, unbridled disgust.

“I’m not nervous,” I said. I was disgusted by the thought of him near me.

Wanting things from me. That wasn’t normal, was it?

He put his hand on ...

My seven-year crush on him was entirely fabricated.

A random choice from when I was eleven, and a girl held up a photo and told me to choose a boy.

The first thing I felt was shock. I felt frozen. Like this wasn’t really happening.

The second thing I felt was anger about my jacket. That was my favorite fucking jacket. I should never have given it to some boy I barely knew. Some boy I didn’t even like.

These things just happened.

“You know, the idea—the idea of it is nice. The idea of liking Tommy and kissing Tommy and having some cute little moment by the fire after prom. That’s so nice. That’s what I wanted.” I felt myself clench the steering wheel. “But the reality disgusts me.”

When we arrived, I said, “Most people our age have kissed someone.” And he said, “That doesn’t matter.” But I knew it did. It mattered. It was not random that I was the one who was falling behind. Everything that had happened that night was a sign that I needed to try harder, or I would be alone for the rest of my life.

“Lots of people meet their life partner at university. Like me and Dad.” Mum regularly pointed out boys she thought I would find attractive, as if I could just go up to someone and ask them out. I never thought any of her choices were attractive anyway. But she was hopeful. Mostly out of curiosity, I think. She wanted to know what sort of person I would choose, like when you’re watching a movie and waiting for the love interest to appear. “Yeah, maybe,” I said, not wanting to tell her that her attempt at cheering me up was just making me feel worse. “That’d be nice.” I was starting to feel a bit like I was going to be sick. But everyone probably felt this way about starting university.

My running theory was that my shyness and introversion were linked to my whole “never fancying anyone” situation—maybe I just didn’t talk to enough people, or maybe people just stressed me out in general, and that was why I’d never wanted to kiss anyone.

How was I supposed to relax when I had to socialize with another person every moment I was awake?

But when Pip did fancy someone, it was very, very obvious. To me, anyway. I could always tell when people had crushes on each other.

“You’ll be OK,” said Jason in his usual calming tone. Nothing fazed Jason. He

had whatever the opposite of anxiety

was. Absolute, unerring pea...

And Jason always gave the warmest, coziest hugs. “OK,” I mumbled into his jacket. When he stepped back, his eyes darted away. He might even have blushed a little bit.