Small

Strange, isn't it, how one so big can really be so small?

We met at a family reunion.

She and I were distant cousins, but if you looked at us both, then you would never guess that we were related, not even the teensiest bit. There was me, loud and outgoing and frankly stupid, with my height and my width and the rest of my body, which was so out of proportionally large that some people stopped me in the streets to ask me if I was an NFL player; and then there was her, quiet and timid and brilliant, with that wavy red hair and those sparkling eyes like jade and that million-watt smile. She was beautiful, inside and out, and I was… not.

We met by accident, amidst all of those relatives, when she tripped over someone's foot, extended out in the aisle between tables. She just happened to hit the refreshments table, and it, along with her, came crashing down.

At the time, I had happened to be helping myself to some potato salad. I was fully prepared to ignore her and go back to my seat when she looked up at me with those shining eyes, wet with unshed tears of embarrassment, and I somehow found that I couldn't ignore her. So with my entire family watching, I set down my plate and hoisted her up onto her feet.

She beamed at me. And from then on, I was hooked.

We became friends. Good friends; close friends; best friends. I could tell her anything, and she would listen, and she would make me feel better. She knew all of my insecurities; she understood them with a kindness that only she possessed. Her favorite thing to tell me was, "You're so big, it's hard to believe you're so small on the inside." But it was true, I was small on the inside, especially around her, because she was clearly so much better than me, and I knew it, and all I wanted was to be good enough to deserve her. I knew I would never be, though, because no one ever would be, and that made me feel as tiny as a bug sometimes.

Yes, we were the greatest of friends, without a doubt. I wanted more; words can't describe how much I wanted more, especially because I'm not very good with words anyways. But she didn't feel that way, I could be sure of that, and I didn't want to ruin what we had, because it- she was bright and wonderful and the best thing in my life.

Eventually, my roommate, my best friend, started to notice I was acting weirdly. He noticed how I would zone out during drills, how I would stare at her letters for days after I had received them. Finally, he managed to convince me to introduce him to "the lucky girl", as he put it. I agreed. During the next break, I arranged to take out her and my roommate for drinks.

They got along swimmingly. She was obviously charmed by my friend; he was clearly dazzled by her. I chose to ignore it, though. I didn't want to see it, even though it was blossoming right in front of my eyes.

Eventually, more and more of her letters started being addressed to him. They would each ask me, either by letters or in person, "Have you heard from her recently?" or "How is she?" or "Have they said anything about me recently?" I would answer their questions honestly, because they were my best friends and they deserved that much, doing my best to keep the anger and resentment and heartbreak out of my voice.

One day, though, I just couldn't take it anymore. He had gotten three letters from her, three, full to the brim with her beautiful purple handwriting, while I had gotten just one letter, with just one paragraph. I screamed at my friend; I yelled at him that she was mine first, that he knew I loved her, so what was he doing stealing her from me? He shouted back that I was being dumb, that she wasn't mine in the first place, not in that way, and it wasn't his fault that she loved him.

The words struck me deep. I felt pain tearing through my chest, and I turned away from my ex-friend.

A month later of no words exchanged between my friend and I besides the occasional, "Pass the salt," at dinner, I was called to the Disciplinary Panel's office. They informed me that someone had told them that I had broken the Honor Code. They explained what I had done, and I told them that I hadn't known it was against the rules- which was true- and that they couldn't expel me, because this school was the only solace I had, the only place I felt at home. I pleaded, I begged them to let me stay.

Two days later, I received a letter that I was expelled.

I packed my bags and left, just as the letter said.

I never saw my roommate again- not as a friend, at least. Her letters became increasingly less consistent until they stopped coming altogether. Somehow, I knew that she and my ex-best friend had gotten together; I knew that he had poisoned her against me, that he must have, because he was just plain evil and she was just too sweet and nice and wonderful for anything else to have happened.

For two years, I waited patiently. Surely, she would realize how wrong he was for her? And yet, one day, I received their wedding invitation in the mail.

I went to the wedding; I couldn't help myself. I needed to see her, even if she was walking down the aisle to another man. She looked stunning, of course; her face radiated happiness as she and my roommate locked gazes.

That was when I knew she was gone. She was his now. But as long as she was happy, I would let them be.

Eventually, I got over her. I fell in love again, and this time, I didn't let her slip away; I married her. And I've never regretted it, because even if I don't show it nearly as much as I should, I love her with all I have.

But there would always be a soft spot in my heart for Hope Cahill, my first love, the first person to see that even though I was big on the outside, inside, I was really very small.

I've discovered that I have a fondness for writing unusual pairings. Call me a bragger, but I really, really like this OneShot.

Please review!

-Joelle8