Everybody has a story about their first love. Usually, it’s sweet — a little clumsy maybe, but tender. Mine? Nothing like that. It was betrayal, pettiness, and more than a little messed up.

To this day, if I see Justin, I’ll still say, “You’re not happy because you were supposed to be with me. You don’t have kids because I was supposed to have all your children.” And the crazy thing? I actually told him this the last time I saw him — after three years. He laughed, brushed it off, but still called me that night. Told me how it made him feel. Told me how he repeated it to his boys, and they said, “Damn, she’s got game.”

Maybe back then I did. But the woman I am at thirty? He wouldn’t stand a chance.

Justin and I grew up in the same world of predominantly white, wealthy schools. The kind of schools where parties had driveways a mile long and bonfires bigger than the rowhouses some of my friends live in now. Looking back, I know some of the things that happened to me in those years were my own fault. Not all of them, but enough.

Justin was one of the star athletes at his school — basketball and football. For black kids in those schools, that was the currency. Stats on the scoreboard mattered more than character, as long as nobody saw the rest.

I don’t remember exactly how it started, but I remember wanting him. And I remember him saying no. And when he hurt my feelings, I decided the only logical thing to do was get revenge.

Here’s where I admit how petty I was: I went after his best friend.

Now, in fairness, Justin had asked me out before Jeremiah ever did. And I told Justin no, because I had another boy on the phone. I literally told myself if that other boy said no, I’d say yes to Justin. When it backfired, I circled back, but by then Justin had changed his mind.

So after Justin denied me, I found Jeremiah on Facebook. Yes, Facebook. MySpace if we’re being really honest — We started dating. My family even knew about him. He got into a car accident, and I can admit now — I didn’t even care. My mom forced me to go see him. I remember sitting with him on the couch as he was bleeding… Back then, if this is actually a safe place. I didn’t care about Jeremiah at all. He was a pawn in my game of revenge.

And here’s where Sarah comes back in. [Bookmark: Spider-Man audition chaos wasn’t her last act.]
We went to this hotel party together — one of those nights that felt bigger than life at the time. Sarah and I got in trouble together. Spent the night and everything. But I’ll share that story another time. Just remember – [Bookmark it] I told Jeremiah I cheated on him at that party. I hadn’t. But I wanted him to break up with me.

It wasn’t the truth. It was just another power play. And it worked. Jeremiah was devastated, and I pretended it didn’t matter.

The plot twist, of course, was that Jeremiah told Justin everything. Every detail, every message, every fight. I thought it was hilarious in the moment. Later, I realized the joke was on me.

Justin started dating this white girl, and not only that — he brought her to my prom. I was furious, but also had to admit the truth: if you play games, you can’t be surprised when you lose.

Years pass. By college, Justin and I still circled each other. We never kissed, never crossed that physical line. And yet, we shared beds. We talked like something deeper was there. He always said, “I care about you so much. I don’t want it to just be sex.”

It sounds noble, but it also left me suspended in this space where I felt wanted but never chosen. Especially cause he got back at me and had sex with on of my close friends. She wasn’t my best friend but I did call her my “wifey”.

And maybe that’s why I called him my first love. Not because we had the romance everyone else brags about, but because I felt it in my chest. Because I wanted it so badly I bent myself into someone I wasn’t.

Years later, I remember going to his house to watch a movie, staying the night, thinking maybe something would finally shift. Instead, I got an offhand comment while we were watching the R. Kelly special. He looked at me and whispered, “Do you want to end up like these girls?”

That sentence alone told me everything I needed to know about the man I thought was my first love.

If I learned anything from Justin, it’s this: sometimes the most damaging love stories are the ones that never even really happen. He never kissed me, but he taught me how much damage almost-love can do.