I would see you at your locker, probably fumbling with books or the school map, looking frustrated when you didn't know where to go.

I would think you're the most beautiful girl in school, believing you're a cheerleader only to find out later that you're a dancer and be even more impressed.

I would go up to you and introduce myself because you're the new girl and all new girls need to be properly introduced by Derek Venturi.

I would say something like, "Hey I'm Derek," with a charming smile.

And you would say, with a faint blush covering your cheeks, "Casey."

"It's nice to meet you Casey, I think you're going to like it here," I would say.

You would smile amusingly at me and bit your bottom lip. "I think so too," you'd say while you're eyes scanned the hallways, only to land on your map.

I would offer you my help on how to get to your classes. And you would be grateful, telling me that your old school was much smaller.

I would lead the way; jokingly explaining that I'm popular and that you're privileged to be talking to me – although I wouldn't actually be joking. You would tell me that I seem conceited and I would flash you a smile saying, "How can you not be when you're this good looking?"

You would roll your eyes and we would come to your first class. I would briefly explain how to get to your other classes from your locker. "Thanks for your help."

"No problem, it's my pleasure to help a beautiful young lady such as yourself."

You would smile timidly, walking into the classroom, eager to begin learning. And I wouldn't know it then, but you would be the best and the worst thing that could ever happen to me.

We would talk more. I would convince you to sit with me at lunch, just to see the envy of the other teenage boys at the school. I would walk you to class occasionally, and by the end of the third day of school I would ask you out.

You would be hesitant at first, but agree. I would act surprise and so lucky that you agreed, although I knew you wouldn't say no because I wouldn't have asked if I was in doubt.

We would go on a date that Friday and although you wouldn't admit it, you would be mesmerized by me from the very first day.

You would tell me that you moved here because of your mother's work and we would tell each other about our families.

We would have a good time and I would realize that I like you for your personality and not just your pretty face by the second date.

I would make fun of you, naturally. And you wouldn't take it, naturally. You would still be a stubborn, methodical girl and I would still be an immature, defiant boy.

We would fight once we became more comfortable around each other. And we would fight all the time. You would yell and shriek and I would shout and call you names. We wouldn't talk to each other for days and then I would finally come up to you and apologize; telling you the whole thing was my fault although I didn't believe it.

You would try to hold back a smile and mumble, "I'm sorry too."

I would hug you and say, "Let's never fight again."

You would laugh but nod against my chest. "Okay."

I would take you home to meet my dad and siblings. Edwin, that's my younger brother, would be annoying and ask you unnecessary question to make us uncomfortable. I would kick him under the table at the dinner table – which by the way served take-out Chinese after George burnt the spaghetti sauce – because he was acting immature and embarrassing me in front of you. Smarti (my younger sister) would love you, and you being so good with kids, would know just what to say to her to calm her down after my dad forgot to wash the right pajamas that she wanted to wear when it was bedtime.

You would take me home to your house, to meet your mom and sister, Lizzie I would learn that her name was. You mom would tell me to call her Nora and she would make the best homemade dinner I had since Christmas at my grandmother's house last year. Lizzie would tell me about her interest in soccer and we would talk sports while your mother and you cleaned off the table and put the food away. When I would leave that night your mom would give me a Tupperware container full of leftovers, saying that a growing boy like myself needs lots to eat. I would smile and give her my thanks, yelling a goodbye to Lizzie and you would walk me out to your porch. I would steal a kiss because I'm still Derek and you'd pull away scolding me, because you're still Casey. We'd end up kissing again though – more like making out actually – because we would be crazy about each other and we couldn't get enough of one another.

We would be happy and I wouldn't be fighting the ache in my chest right now to be close to you. I wouldn't have to worry about what people would think of us. We wouldn't be morally wrong or disturbing. We wouldn't have to worry about what our siblings thought or how our parents would react.

We would be free to love each other and it wouldn't be complicated.

It would just be us and no one else would matter.

Because we could.