18 | It's Not Weird to Say I Love You

I saw the same messed up creep other people saw. And that was all I saw. Until he talked to me.

Jun 10, 2026

It’s Not Weird to Say I Love You is the story of a fragile new friendship determined to grow stronger in spite of the bullies and beliefs bent on its destruction. A tender, awkward, and at times heart-wrenching tale of first love, buried grief, and found family reminiscent of Eleanor & Park and The Perks of Being a Wallflower, It’s Not Weird… offers an emotional escape from our tech-centered lives to a time when DMs were sent as hand-written notes, scrawled onto napkins and slid into locker vents. When talking outside of school meant talking on the telephone and hoping no one in your house “picked up” and embarrassed you. When trolls had names and faces and sat beside you in home room. When making a connection required the courage to show up, speak up, and open up… just as you are.
New chapters of Annie and Merrick’s story will post every Wednesday morning.
Dive in anytime or join the journey from page one.

Chapter Eighteen

“Are we misfits?” I asked.

We sat side by side on Merrick’s living room couch, feet up and faces gooped. His cousins were blaring music from some Disney soundtrack in their bedroom and singing along.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I mean, do we only hang out together because we don’t fit anywhere else. Because nobody wants us.”

“Do you wish you did fit somewhere else?”

“Sometimes,” I admitted. “Doesn’t everybody?”

He scratched at his chin where the goop had started to dry.

“You could fit anywhere you want, Annie.”

“Yeah right,” I scoffed. “Have you seen my face lately?”

“Why do you think your face is what’s keeping you from fitting in?”

“Because it’s all people see,” I said.

“It’s not all I see.”

I turned to him, deciding the playing field was even enough for us to discuss this given we both looked like monsters with goop all over our faces.

“You’re saying you’re magically blind to my awful skin when you look at me.”

“No,” he said. “I see it. It’s part of who you are and how you look. But it’s just one part. Everybody has flaws. But that’s not everything they are.”

He sounded like my mother.

“Well, you’re just better than everyone else, I guess. Because I know when people look at me, they just see my face. And they don’t want to see anything else. That’s why I’ll never fit in with them.”

“Can I ask you something?” he sat up and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He was wearing a t-shirt again. He’d gotten comfortable doing that around me. It made me feel good.

“What?”

“Before I said something to you that day in homeroom, and we started hanging out, what did you see when you looked at me?”

I didn’t answer right away because I didn’t like what came to mind. That I saw a poor kid with no friends who ate canned goods for lunch and may or may not have shopped for clothes in a dumpster. I saw the same messed up creep other people saw. And that was all I saw. Until he talked to me. Then I saw more. So much more.

“You don’t have to answer,” he said. “I think I already know what you saw.”

“So, I’m a judgmental bitch?” I said, throwing my hands up in surrender. “Is that the lesson you’re trying to teach me?”

He laughed. “No. And you’re not a bitch. Not a big one anyway.” I slapped his arm. “But you do judge people the same way people judge you. That’s just human teenager stuff. We all do it. Which is why you’re just like everybody else. And if you really wanted to, you could fit in with lots of people.”

I groaned and laid back against the couch. He stayed leaning forward, his hands fidgeting in his lap.

“Maybe you should try,” he said suddenly.

“Try what?”

“Fitting in with other people.”

“You mean people other than you?” I asked. He nodded. “Why would I want to do that?”

“Well, you did just say you wanted to like thirty seconds ago.” He smiled. “And … maybe it would just be good for you … to have friends that aren’t me. In case I ever…”

“Ever what?” I sat up, my insides twitching.

“In case I ever … can’t be here for you.” His voice trailed off.

I swallowed the panic in my throat. “Are you going somewhere?”

“No,” he said. “But … you never know.”

I stared into the side of his head, trying to read his thoughts. A loud crash erupted from down the hall, followed by a shriek of frustration.

“Crap, I’ll be right back,” he said. “Go ahead and use my aunt’s bathroom to wash your goop off. You’ve reached rubber cement phase.” He jogged down the hallway to assess the fallout in his cousins’ room.

I was shaky walking into Laura’s bathroom. I didn’t know why Merrick would ever not be there for me. Or what would take him away. But the idea of it scared me. And it made my stomach hurt.

I rinsed off the goop and then washed my hands and face in peppermint soap for a long time. I wished I hadn’t thrown mine away impulsively the day Merrick didn’t kiss me. Now that I knew he really wanted to.

He was back on the couch, fresh faced and smiling, when I returned.

“What happened in there?” I asked, sitting a little closer to him than I had before.

“The usual,” he said. “Land mines.”

I felt a sudden urge to wrap myself around him and hold on tight so he wouldn’t go away. Ever.

“You okay?” he asked, seeing the worry in my face.

“Yeah,” I lied.

He must have read my mind. He swung his arm around my shoulder and hugged me against his chest. My whole body warmed at his closeness and the minty, sweet smell of his skin. His heart skipped softly against my cheek, and I closed my eyes and made a wish for him to get better. Whatever that meant for him. I wished it with my whole heart. And I wished that something would happen. Something that would push him down the path to believing the truth about his mom. That it wasn’t his fault that she died. And he could move on.

And until that happened, I wouldn’t let him pull away from me. And I wouldn’t abandon him to go trying to fit in with everyone else and leave him alone. If he wanted me to try to make other friends, then he was going to try with me. Because the only way I would go anywhere was with him beside me. Holding my hand.

“Danielle’s having a party tomorrow,” I said. “She wants us to come.”

“Us?” he said, squeezing my arm gently. “Did she really say that?”

“Yes,” I said. “We should go. I need to go because I’m worried about Danielle doing stupid things. But you need to go, too, because people need to see what I see when I look at you.”

“What’s that?” he said, leaning his chin against my forehead.

I pulled away just enough to look up into his eyes, bright and hazel green against his tan skin.

The words caught in my throat, and I couldn’t push them forward. I wanted to tell him that I saw the person I wished I was. Someone who didn’t let their flaws define them. Who didn’t let the cruelty of jerks beat them down. Someone who was selfless and kind and appreciated what they had, even if it wasn’t a lot. Someone who listened to their heart. Even if it broke the rules sometimes to do it.

My lips hung open waiting for the words to slide out. But they wouldn’t come.

“You don’t have to answer,” he blushed. “I think I already know what you see.”

He hugged his arm around me until my face found the pillow of his chest again. The drumming of his heartbeat. The scent of his skin.

“And thank you,” he whispered softly against my hair.

“You’re welcome,” I said.