Natalie looked up, for a moment, at Edgar. They locked eyes. His eyes seemed as if to absorb her; the intensity was almost frightening.

She wanted so much for men to like her. And, of course, within this self-consciousness, was the belief that Edgar didn’t find her attractive, and that was her paramount, if pathetic, concern.

Is my hair greasy? Was this shirt the wrong choice? Is my lipstick ok?

What was Edgar thinking?

She settled on the thing she always settled on:

I’m not a pretty girl.

And when Natalie thought of this insecurity, she knew it was stupid. She was too old to be envious of women who were beautiful. But it wound her up, like a tightly ticking clock.

She was probably a solid 7/10.

She didn’t know what to make of Edgar’s interest. Why was he with a 7/10? He could have any girl. Why her?

Edgar may have been oblivious of her fear, but he did know. Deep down, he knew, too.

This wasn’t going to go anywhere.

I would swap places with the "me" I should be, the "me" I dream of being. The "me" who has school under control. The "me" who pays attention at mass. The "me" who feels the presence of God more powerfully. The "me" who loves stronger, and the "me" who is more worthy of the love she receives. No one else can do better than that. Boyfriend or not, I would be happy if I were the "me" God wants me to be. The best "me" ever.

(I know this is different from what you want, but this is what I wish for)