The Not So Secret Crush

Trevor’s not sure. Of himself. Of the situation. Of his future, but fate intervenes.

Trevor Morgan spent his lunch periods like a spy in a teen rom-com—staring longingly across the cafeteria, eyeing Jake Patterson over the rim of his chocolate milk carton.

Jake.

The name alone made his stomach flutter like it was hosting a butterfly speed-dating event. He was Trevor’s crush. Big time. The kind of crush where even the way Jake opened a bag of chips seemed like an Oscar-worthy moment. His smile could power streetlights. His hair had this perfectly imperfect flop. And his laugh? It was so infectious that Trevor once giggled just hearing it from three tables away—earning a very confused glance from his best friend Maya.

But the biggest tragedy of Trevor’s 16-year-old existence?

Jake didn’t have a clue.

Trevor knew it. Deep down, he knew Jake was blissfully unaware that the boy sitting two tables away was basically composing imaginary love letters between bites of pizza.

And so, Trevor played what he privately called The Game.

The Game was simple: observe Jake. From a distance. Not in a creepy way (he insisted to himself)—just… inquisitive. Curious. Strategic. Like a romantic scientist collecting data.

He tracked who Jake talked to. What routes he walked between classes. How he always tied his shoelaces the same way, looping them into neat, symmetrical bows. Trevor noticed how he spoke to girls—friendly, always polite—but never flirty. Which, frankly, fueled Trevor’s hope like gasoline to a flame.

But hope wasn’t the same as courage.

Because even though Trevor could sketch the constellation of freckles on Jake’s neck from memory, he couldn’t even bring himself to say “hi.”

Until the day everything changed.

⸻

It was an ordinary Tuesday. Trevor was running late for history class, arms overloaded with books and a half-open backpack dragging a trail of loose paper behind him like confetti.

And then—

WHAM.

Collision.

Textbooks flew. Papers rained like sad snowflakes. Trevor staggered, heart leaping into his throat.

“Oh man—sorry! I didn’t see you!”

Trevor blinked.

It was Jake. Jake. The actual Jake Patterson. Real. Talking. Helping gather his fallen algebra notes.

Trevor’s mouth opened but only made a sound resembling a faint wheeze. His brain screamed say something charming! but all that came out was:

“I…I lost my phone.”

Jake paused, holding out Trevor’s government binder. “Um… sorry?”

Trevor wanted to melt into the floor. Crawl into a vent. Flee the continent. “Sorry. That’s not—uh. I just… forgot how to speak English for a second.”

Jake chuckled. “Well, lucky for both of us, I speak fluent ‘awkward.’ You okay?”

Trevor blinked again. “You… speak awkward?”

Jake smiled, standing up and handing him the last of his papers. “Fluently.”

And that was it. Five seconds of interaction. Five seconds that replayed in Trevor’s head for the rest of the day on a continuous, obsessive loop. By math class, he was drawing hearts on his notebook with J + T in the center. By biology, he had composed a fantasy scenario in which they were assigned to work on a science project together and fell in love while building a papier-mâché volcano.

⸻

Over the next few weeks, Jake actually started saying hi to him. Not just a nod. Full-on greetings. Even the occasional “How’s it going?” in the hallway. Trevor would reply, trying not to sound like he was rehearsing for a rom-com audition.

“Pretty good.”

“Just surviving the week.”

“One step closer to Friday.”

He thought about telling Maya. But he wasn’t ready. Maya was his best friend, his secret-keeper, and his code-breaker when he needed help deciphering the cryptic behaviors of teenage boys. But he kept this close to his chest. Too close.

That changed when Maya caught him staring at Jake in homeroom.

She leaned over and whispered, “You gonna say something to him before you literally combust?”

“I don’t combust,” Trevor whispered back, cheeks hot.

“You do, sweetie. Quietly. With longing sighs and algebra doodles.”

Trevor let out a groan.

“Do you like-like him?” Maya asked, softer this time.

“I think I… yeah.”

She smiled. “Well. If he ever breaks your heart, I know how to hotwire a car and drive you to Mexico.”

⸻

One Friday, fate stepped in again.

Jake showed up in the library during Trevor’s tutoring shift. Not to study. Just to sit across from him at the same table and pretend to look busy.

Trevor, brave on exactly zero occasions, somehow found the courage to say, “So… doing homework or avoiding the cafeteria meatloaf?”

Jake grinned. “You caught me. Tragic mystery meat avoidance.”

They talked.

About everything.

About how Jake loved old comic books and secretly played piano. How Trevor liked writing short stories and baking (but never at the same time, because his last cookie recipe was covered in ink). They laughed. They shared dumb memes from their phones. Trevor thought he might cry from how normal and easy it felt.

“Hey,” Jake said as they were packing up, “you ever go to that little coffee place on Main? The one with the weird marshmallow hot chocolate?”

Trevor’s stomach fluttered. “Um. No. But it sounds…deliciously questionable.”

Jake nodded. “Maybe you’d want to go with me sometime?”

Trevor blinked. “Like… go with you?”

Jake raised an eyebrow, amused. “Yeah. Unless you think I ask everyone about marshmallow hot chocolate and call it a date.”

Trevor’s jaw almost unhinged.

“You’re asking me out?”

Jake grinned. “Took you long enough to notice.”

⸻

They met that Saturday. Jake was wearing a hoodie and jeans, his hair doing that casually windswept thing that made Trevor’s chest ache.

They drank weird hot chocolate and talked about cartoons and how Jake’s cat had more followers than he did on Instagram.

Trevor stared at Jake and thought, this is real. He wasn’t just watching anymore. He was in it. And when Jake reached across the table and touched his hand, Trevor squeezed back without thinking.

“This is my first time,” Trevor said quietly. “With a guy. With anyone.”

Jake nodded. “Mine too.”

There was no grand movie kiss. No orchestral swell. Just warm fingers, a shared smile, and the quiet certainty that something had shifted between them.

⸻

Of course, word got out. That Monday, someone snickered behind Trevor’s back in gym. A basketball rolled into him on “accident.” And a guy on the football team asked Jake in front of everyone, “So, you dating the school librarian now?”

Jake just shrugged and said, “Yeah. He’s smart. You should try it sometime.”

Trevor thought his heart might actually explode.

⸻

Weeks turned into months. And Trevor didn’t need The Game anymore.

He and Jake were a thing now. They still weren’t loud about it. They didn’t parade through the halls holding hands. But they sat next to each other at lunch. Jake would ruffle his hair when he walked by. And Trevor, well… he didn’t feel invisible anymore.

He told Maya everything. She cried. Then made him brownies.

Jake took him to his first concert. Trevor brought Jake to dinner with his mom, who was only mildly shocked to realize her son had a boyfriend, and more concerned that he didn’t tell her sooner. (“He’s cute,” she whispered in the kitchen. “You did good.”)

⸻

One night, they sat under a tree behind the school, watching the stars.

“I still can’t believe you like me,” Trevor said, head resting on Jake’s shoulder.

Jake laughed. “Dude. You followed me around school for a month like an undercover penguin. Of course I noticed.”

Trevor jerked up. “Wait. You knew?”

Jake smirked. “You’re not exactly stealthy.”

“I was doing recon! I had a system!”

“I know. I found one of your doodle journals in the library.”

Trevor groaned. “Kill me now.”

Jake kissed his forehead. “Too late. I already fell for you.”

⸻

Trevor smiled.

Yeah. Jake had no clue.

Until, of course, he did.

And now—he was everything.