How to Uncrush your Crush

If there were an Olympic sport for embarrassing yourself in front of your crush, I would've taken gold three years in a row.

My name is Lia Rivera. Sixteen. Junior. Certified drama queen, occasionally allergic to common sense. And as of this morning? Public enemy number one of my dignity.

Let me explain.

It started like any other weekday at Jefferson High - a melting pot of pastel lockers, underfunded vending machines, and enough teenage hormones to power a soap opera.

I was running late, again. Mostly because my afro refused to cooperate and decided to revolt like it had its own freedom movement.

"Lia!" My mom's voice echoed from downstairs as I wrestled with a scrunchie. "You're gonna miss your bus!"

"Tell the bus to wait!" I yelled back, yanking my curls into what I hoped resembled a bun and not a wild nest of secrets. Spoiler alert: it was the nest.

My mom, Rochelle Rivera - aka Queen of Sarcasm and Mom Jeans - popped her head into my room with a raised brow. "Girl, that bus waits for no one. Especially not for you and your full-on Beyoncé hair moment."

"Love you, bye!" I sprinted past her, grabbed a half-eaten granola bar, and slammed the front door behind me.

---

Ten minutes later, I made it to school just as the warning bell rang - heart racing, curls bouncing, and sneakers untied like some kind of tragic metaphor.

Jefferson High was buzzing. Posters for "Fall Spirit Week" were everywhere, reminding us that pajama day was coming, and so was a quiz in trig, which was not nearly as exciting.

I dodged a freshman with a trombone, barely missed slipping on someone's spilled iced coffee, and finally approached my locker with the grace of a penguin on roller skates.

That's when it happened.

The Locker Incident™.

One second I was spinning my lock (left-right-left-curse), and the next-BOOM. I slammed into a wall.

Except it wasn't a wall.

It was Ethan Park.

Six feet tall, lean build, perfect posture like his spine was sponsored by a yoga studio. Hair black as midnight and annoyingly perfect, even though we all knew he didn't even use product. His jawline? Sharp enough to file government secrets. And don't even get me started on his smile. It was soft. Like he knew how to laugh but didn't do it often. Like when he did, it meant something.

And right now, all of that was about two inches from my face.

"Oh my God-Ethan-I-" I scrambled back, nearly tripping over my own backpack.

He blinked. "Are you okay?"

"I-yes-I'm just-my locker betrayed me."

"...Your locker?"

"It moved. I swear. It lunged."

He stared at me, lips twitching.

Please don't laugh. Please don't-

He smiled.

Not just any smile. That smile. The one he gave teachers when he answered questions like he didn't know he was a genius. The one that made girls in Honors Bio develop asthma.

"I didn't know lockers had legs," he said, voice light, amused.

"I didn't know hallway crushes were fatal, but here we are!" I blurted out before my brain could catch up to my mouth.

Silence.

My soul ascended.

Ethan tilted his head, lips parted. And then-

He laughed.

Not a polite chuckle. A real, caught-off-guard, nose-wrinkling laugh.

I wanted to crawl into my locker and live there forever.

---

"LIA!" Maya screeched, grabbing my arm and yanking me away like the building was on fire.

"Wait, my dignity-!"

"It's gone, girl. Gone. Come on."

Maya Caldwell was my best friend and part-time life coach. Half-Trinidadian, half-sass, and built like a track star with the voice of someone who didn't believe in indoor volumes.

She dragged me around the corner and planted me against the wall. "You ran into him. Again. How many times is that?"

"Four," I muttered.

"Four! Girl. This is officially a pattern. You need help."

"I think I need therapy."

"You need exorcism. Why are you like this?"

"Because he has a face that makes my heart malfunction!"

Maya sighed dramatically. "You know what? It's time."

"For... what?"

She crossed her arms. "We're gonna get you over Ethan Park."

"Wait-what-no, you can't just decide that."

"Yes I can. It's the Uncrush Plan."

"The what now?"

"Operation: Uncrush Your Crush. New life goal: humiliate yourself in front of him so badly, your heart will give up and move on."

"...That is the stupidest idea I've ever heard."

"I know. Which is why it's perfect."

Later, in the cafeteria - aka the Thunderdome of drama and expired chicken nuggets - I nursed my water bottle and stared at Ethan across the room.

He was sitting with his usual crew - Lucas, his best friend and meme dealer; Jenny, the class president; and Olivia, who might've been his ex-girlfriend or current something. Rumors were conflicting.

"So," Maya said, plopping next to me, "what do we embarrass you with first?"

"Can we not?"

"Nope. You already fell into him once this week. What's left? Crying in front of him while reciting Shakespeare?"

I groaned. "Why can't I just like a normal person?"

"You? Normal? Girl, the last time you tried flirting, you offered a boy half your lunch and asked if he liked cats."

"Cats are a valid topic!"

"You said, 'Wanna see my cat's Instagram.'"

"...Okay, I admit that was a low point."

Maya smirked. "So. Operation Uncrush. You in?"

I sipped my water dramatically. "Fine. But if I die, put 'She Tried Her Best' on my tombstone."

---

That night at dinner, my little brother Zion flicked a green bean at my face and said, "You gonna tell Mom you ran into your boyfriend again?"

"Ethan is not my boyfriend," I snapped, wiping my cheek. "He's just a guy who accidentally saw my soul leave my body."

My mom raised an eyebrow. "Are we talking about the tall boy again?"

"He's not tall, he's just... normal tall. And no. We're talking about... algebra."

Zion snorted. "Algebra doesn't make you blush, dummy."

"Okay, first of all, yes it does," I said. "Second of all, mind your business."

My mom grinned. "I'm just saying. Maybe if you stop crashing into him, he'll stop thinking you're a walking disaster."

"...Thanks, Mom. That's very helpful."

"You're welcome, baby."

---

At 1AM, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, questioning every life choice that led me here. Was this what teenhood was supposed to be? Hormones, heartbreak, and hallway collisions?

Probably.

I rolled over and checked my phone. Maya had texted me:

Maya: Step one tomorrow. Be ready. You're gonna trip in front of him. On purpose.

Me: YOU WANT ME TO WHAT?!

Maya: Trust the plan.

Me: I trust literally nothing about this plan.

Maya: Then I guess you're still gonna be in love with him at graduation.

I groaned. Ethan Park, you better be worth the bruises.

The next morning, I woke up with one thought: Today, I will ruin my own life.

Technically, it was Maya's idea. But I said yes. Which makes me an accomplice to my own destruction.

"Just a little public embarrassment," she'd said with a wink.

"Something light. Flavored with a side of dignity loss."

I groaned into my pillow, wondering how I went from hopeless romantic to emotional stuntwoman.

---

At school, I dragged my Converse through the hall like I was on my way to a funeral. Maya, on the other hand, was thriving. She slid up beside me in a neon hoodie like it was her job to scream chaotic best friend energy. "You ready, superstar?"

"Define 'ready,'" I mumbled.

"To humiliate yourself in the name of personal growth and questionable emotional strategy."

"Cool, cool, yeah, I'm ready to emotionally combust."

"Good girl." She patted my shoulder like a proud villain. "We do it at lunch. High traffic. Maximum exposure."

I stared at her.

"You're enjoying this way too much."

"Obviously."

---

By third period, I was sweating like a popsicle on a grill. Every time I saw Ethan in the hall, my brain short-circuited like someone poured soda on the motherboard. He looked good in that faded denim jacket. Too good. The kind of good that made you mad because it wasn't fair.

"Stop staring at him like you're doing a project called Ethan's Face: A Visual Study," Maya muttered during chem.

"I'm trying to memorize it so I know what I'm sacrificing."

"Girl, this isn't a Marvel movie. You're not saving the universe. You're just dumping noodles on your own shirt."

"Same level of emotional damage."

---

Lunchtime.

The Cafeteria.

Scene of many social deaths. My hands trembled as I picked up my lunch tray. It was heavier than I expected. And redder. The spaghetti was too saucy. Like it knew it had a destiny.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" I whispered. Maya stood behind me, phone out, ready to record (for "scientific purposes," she claimed).

"Absolutely not. But it'll be iconic."

"I hate you."

"You'll thank me when you're finally over him."

I took a deep breath, centered myself like I was about to walk a fashion runway. Except this runway led straight to a crash site. I saw him.

Ethan.

Sitting at his usual table, laughing at something Lucas said. Fork mid-air. Unaware that a walking disaster was heading his way like a sauce-covered meteor.

"Go," Maya whispered, like a general sending her soldier to war.

So I walked. I walked like my legs were rented. I walked like I had just been born and never learned how to exist in the world. Each step echoed with doom. And then-the moment. I tripped over my own foot, launched the tray into the air like it was a freaking Olympic discus, and-

SPLAT.

Spaghetti.

Everywhere.

On my shirt.

On my hair.

A single noodle clung to my ear like it was trying to hold on for dear life. Gasps echoed. A fork clattered dramatically. I stood frozen, dripping marinara sauce and shame. Ethan stared. Everyone stared. And then-he stood up.

Oh no.

Abort.

ABORT.

"Lia?" he asked, stepping toward me. I tried to speak. Failed.

Noodle still flapping from my shoulder like a flag of surrender. Lucas laughed. Loudly.

"Bro, she spaghetti-ed herself!"

Ethan looked... confused.

Concerned.

Like I might cry. Which, let's be real, was not off the table.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"I'm just... very passionate about pasta," I said weakly.

He blinked. And then... he smiled. Why was he smiling?! "You, uh... you've got a little..." He pointed to his own cheek.

I touched mine. Yep. Sauce. Of course. I probably looked like I got into a fistfight with a plate of lasagna and lost.

"I was trying to quit carbs," I muttered.

"Didn't go great, huh?"

"No. It did not."

He laughed. Again. Why was he always laughing at me like I was a walking meme? I turned to leave-but slipped on a rogue meatball and nearly yeeted myself into the dessert cart.

Ethan caught my arm.

"Whoa-careful."

My body betrayed me and tingled. Rude.

"I'm fine. Just trying out slapstick comedy."

He let me go, eyebrows raised, lips twitching.

"You're... unique." Kill me. Just bury me in marinara. I nodded and sprint-walked away, dripping noodles.

---

In the bathroom, Maya was practically vibrating with joy.

"You were GLORIOUS," she shouted, clutching her phone.

"Like a disaster goddess! Do you know how many views this video already has?!"

"You recorded it?!"

"Of course I did! That was comedy gold!"

"I hate my life."

"You're doing great, sweetie."

"I LOOKED LIKE A PIZZA CRIME SCENE."

"You looked adorable."

I sighed and stared at myself in the mirror. Red-streaked shirt. Hair clumped. Noodle still stuck in my braid like a decorative garnish.

"I think I made him like me." Maya blinked.

"Wait, what?"

"He smiled. He helped. He called me unique. That's bad, right?"

"No, that's... kind of terrifying."

"I think he thinks I'm a rom-com character."

"You are a rom-com character."

"This plan is backfiring."

"Or maybe it's working too well."

I groaned.

"What if I never get over him?" Maya threw an arm around me.

"Then we just keep embarrassing you until one of you gets married or changes schools."

"Comforting."

"You're welcome."

---

Later that night, I lay in bed freshly showered and full of regret.

My phone pinged.

It was a message from an unknown number:

Unknown: That was quite the lunch performance. Unknown: You okay?

My heart punched my ribs.

Then the next message came.

Ethan: It's Ethan, by the way. In case the marinara erased your memory.

I stared at the screen.

I typed.

Deleted.

Typed again.

Me: I've decided to pivot to slapstick comedy full-time. Ethan: You've got potential. Might want to avoid meatballs, though.

I laughed.

Then paused.

Then groaned.

Because I was supposed to be uncrushing him. But instead? I was falling harder.

Somewhere in the universe, the cosmic forces decided that today was another day for Lia Rivera to be publicly humbled in front of Ethan Park.

It was tradition at this point.

"Walk slow, look casual, and do not fall over anything," I muttered to myself as I closed my locker, backpack hanging off one shoulder like I was starring in a coming-of-age movie no one asked for.

Ethan was walking down the hall. Alone. Backpack slung perfectly, like it had been styled. His sneakers looked like they'd just stepped out of a commercial. His hair looked like it was being kissed by a breeze that only existed for him.

And there I was, standing in the middle of the hallway with a pencil behind my ear and a granola bar sticking out of my mouth like a confused squirrel.

I spun around to escape-right into the custodial cart.

It clattered, buckets sloshed, and a mop somehow slapped my leg like it had beef with me personally.

I froze.

Ethan stopped walking.

We locked eyes.

He looked at the mop.

Then at me.

Then-he laughed.

Again.

It wasn't a mean laugh. It was the kind where his shoulders shook and he tried not to smile too big, but couldn't help it. His laugh was soft but bright, like sunlight on water.

I just... stood there. Like a traffic cone. Covered in janitorial shame.

A beat passed.

"You okay?" he asked, walking over like this wasn't the third time he'd had to witness my social collapse.

"Yep," I said too loudly. "Just checking if the mop was emotionally available."

He blinked.

Laughed again.

And then-"You're funny, you know that?"

I forgot how to breathe.

He kept walking, a soft smile still on his face.

I stood frozen, legs glued to the floor, dignity in shambles.

"Oh my God," I whispered to myself. "He laughed. Again. That's twice. That's a pattern."

"YOU'RE DOING IT AGAIN," Maya yelled from down the hall.

"Doing what?!"

"LOOKING LIKE YOU FELL IN LOVE WITH THE FLOOR!"

I might've.

ETHAN'S POINT OF VIEW

People think being "the popular guy" means you're confident, smooth, and living some dream.

What it actually means is everyone watches everything you do, expects you to be perfect all the time, and thinks you have your entire life together.

I don't.

My name's Ethan Park. Seventeen. Junior. Half my brain is filled with physics equations and the other half with existential dread. My parents are Korean immigrants. Strict, proud, and very into the idea of me becoming a doctor, lawyer, or NASA engineer. My mom makes kimchi like it's a sport. My dad thinks emotions are a distraction.

We're a loving family... in the "did you eat?" way, not the "let's talk about feelings" way.

Every Saturday morning is spent cleaning the house while BTS plays in the background. Every Sunday afternoon is for Korean school, where my grandma reminds me I hold chopsticks wrong. I love them, but sometimes I feel like I'm constantly balancing two worlds and expected to be flawless in both.

So yeah, school's a break. Sort of.

I hang with Lucas (part-time chaos goblin), Olivia (still friends despite our failed dating experiment), and Jenny (class president, planner of everything, also mildly terrifying).

And lately? I've been noticing someone else.

Lia Rivera.

I knew who she was, obviously. Everyone knew Lia. Not because she was popular, but because she was impossible to ignore in the best way. She walked like her thoughts were louder than the hallway, like her daydreams were too big to fit inside her head.

She wore these statement t-shirts with sayings like "Socially Anxious But Still Cute" or "Emotionally Unavailable to All Men Except Henry Golding."

The first time she ran into me was freshman year. She hit me with a band instrument. A trumpet, I think.

She screamed, I apologized, and we both fled in opposite directions.

Since then, she's run into me... several more times. Last week, she tripped and tried to use a potted plant as a support beam. It didn't go well.

But I kept thinking about her.

She was loud and awkward and honest. When she talked, her hands moved like they were trying to catch up to her brain. And when she smiled, it looked like her whole face got in on the joke.

So yeah, I noticed her.

Then came The Spaghetti Incident.

She walked toward my table like she was approaching death itself. I could see it on her face: determination, terror, chaos.

And then-boom.

Red sauce. Noodles. A whole tray of tragedy.

Lucas was howling. Olivia was speechless. I was... weirdly impressed.

Because Lia stood there covered in marinara like she was owning it. Like she'd meant to do it, just to make a point.

And when she muttered something about being passionate about pasta?

I lost it.

I laughed harder than I had in weeks.

The best part? She didn't even try to cover it up. She just shrugged like, "Yeah, this is me. What now?"

I respected that.

Later, I got her number from Jenny, who had it from planning some student council thing. (Don't ask how. Jenny knows everything.)

I texted her.

And when she replied? I smiled.

A lot.

Which brings me to today. The Mop Catastrophe.

Lia versus the janitor cart. The chaos duel of the century.

And me?

I couldn't stop laughing.

I should've helped her. I should've offered to walk her to class. But instead, I just stood there, stunned that one person could be so effortlessly themselves.

I think she's trying to get over me. I think she's doing it on purpose. Maya's been acting suspicious. And Lucas keeps saying stuff like, "Your weird little fan is spiraling."

But if this is her "getting over" me...

It's not working.

It's just making me like her more.

Back to Lia

I hid in the bathroom until lunch.

"I'm a joke," I told Maya. "I am a meme with legs."

"You're his meme with legs," she said. "That boy is obsessed with your nonsense."

"He laughed at me again."

"Exactly. He's either into you or he has a kink for disaster."

"Do I want him to like me?" I whispered. "This is getting too real."

Maya paused. "Do you want to like him?"

"I wanted to stop liking him. That was the plan!"

"But now?"

Now I didn't know.

Because Ethan wasn't just the crush anymore.

He was the boy who texted me jokes at midnight.

Who remembered the exact place I tripped last week.

Who laughed like he meant it.

The worst part?

He wasn't making fun of me.

He was noticing me.

Really noticing me.

And my heart? Yeah, it wasn't uncrushing. It was panicking.