Sarah is very pretty

When I was 13 years old, I went on a school trip to the Forest of Dean.

The entire year came on the trip, and we all stayed in a wooden bunk house with 3 or 4 kids in each room. The teachers had their own quarters down the hallway.

We’d go on trips to nature reserves and railway stations during the day, and have lessons in the afternoon. In the evening, we’d all eat together in a tall hall with long wooden benches.

I was a shy kid, but I was also starting to take an interest in girls. I had no idea what to do if a girl were interested in me, but the magnetism had begun.

Each night, after dinner, there would be an hour of frantic inter-room socialising, with everyone revelling in what was essentially a giant sleepover with no parental oversight.

I felt uncomfortable, but took the opportunity to tag along with friends and talk to more girls. I tried to copy what the other boys were doing, because I didn’t have the foggiest idea what to do.

It was hit and miss, but I learned how to chat back-and-forth with some girls, and a world of potential approval began to open up.

There was one girl in particular I liked. Her name was Sarah Arnott. I thought she was very pretty. I mentioned this to a couple of my friends, and word got around.

The next night, everyone was sitting in the dinner hall, waiting for food to be served.

I didn’t realise Sarah was sitting on the bench behind me until she tapped me on the shoulder.

“Do you fancy me?” she asked loudly.

A hush came over the room.

This felt like a rapid escalation in my interactions with girls, but I decided to lean in and just be honest.

“Yes”, I replied meekly.

“EEEEEEEEWWWWWW!!!”, she screamed at the top of her voice, scrunching up her face.

The entire room erupted in laughter as I tried to melt between the wooden panels.

I don’t tell another girl I like her for the next 5 years.