Boy

There's this really hot boy on campus that I've always known peripherally—a friend of friends, you know. We'll call him Jon. Freshman year I was thrilled to find out that Jon was gay. Really he's gay? Now, I never actually pursued him. Even though he was hot and nice and smart, I didn't think our interests overlapped too much. And as hot and nice and smart as he was, he was probably out of my league. But I still like him and giggle, chat and smile whenever he talks to me.

So, three weeks ago, when I was drinking with a bunch of friends, one of them—we'll call him Noel—was going through his cell phone to see who his should call, and of course, Jon's number came popped up, and I said,

"Dude, you should totally call him. He's so hot."

So Jon came over, and we all hung out, but nothing scandalous happened. No crazy sailor-suit shenanigans. But that episode, along with a couple of subsequent conversations, must have made an impression, because he asked Noel whether I liked him.

Dun dun dun.

Noel said yes. Jon said, "Well, tell him I'd just like to be friends."

Noel told me tonight, and I'm placed in the awkward situation of being rejected without ever actually pursuing the boy.

Nice.