I have no idea what made him pay attention to me in the first place.

As high school clichés go, he was a pretty good example of the jock that everyone loved. And, because I had spent most of my adolescent years in front of the television, I was an expert on stereotypes. In most teen romances there is a Golden Boy; so good looking he could have stepped off the cover of a Men's Health magazine, excelled at every sport he dared to try and an academic wonder-man whose brain was envied by all.

At my school, that was Mason Hayworth.

And then there was me; awkward, shy and slightly overweight due to my love of all things covered in sugar. Yet another perfect example of a high school cliché. If I had to cast myself, I would fall under the role of the Invisible Girl.

We could have been one of those typical romance movies. Except, real life isn't a movie, and it doesn't always end well.

The first time he ever spoke to me I was so shocked I dropped the books I was carrying. The thud of my dignity landing on the floor beside them rang through my ears. Without missing a beat, Mason stooped down and helped me pick them up.

"It is Diana, isn't it?"

He repeated the same question that had caused us to be in this position in the first place. I was on my hands and knees, red to the roots of my hair. He was crouched down, collecting my books together for me.

My mouth was so dry I could only manage a nod. He smiled at me, and I remember thinking that I really should be wearing sunglasses, or my eyes would be damaged by the perfect whiteness of his teeth. I was surprised that he hadn't been approached yet for appearances in toothpaste commercials.

"It's nice to meet you, Diana."

I refrained from pointing out the fact that we had been going to the same school for some years and had several classes together. Technically, we had met many times, even if it was only in passing. Instead, like a moronic robot, I just nodded again.

He got back up on his feet and held out his hand to me, it took me a moment before I realized he was offering to help me up. Sadly, it wasn't the romantic moment I had always pictured in my dreams.

I took his hand and rose, very un-gracefully to my feet. For the first time ever, I was embarrassed about the extra weight I was carrying around. Especially when I compared it to the muscles that I could see through the thin fabric of his white shirt.

By now I was sure that he must have assumed that I was incapable of speech. Hell, I was starting to wonder myself. So, I swallowed what felt like a piece of popcorn stuck in my throat and whispered, "thanks."

He cocked his head to the side and studied me intently, his light brown locks tickling the side of his neck. I felt very uncomfortable under the scrutiny of his clear blue eyes, almost as though he had x-ray vision. Which I knew was impossible.

Or at least, very unlikely.

He grinned at me, the dimple in his left cheek more pronounced than ever. I had to restrain myself from poking it; it was that adorable. "See you around Di."
I resisted the urge to tell him that I do not like being called 'Di,' because after all it was Mason Hayworth! Besides, the chances of him talking to me ever again were slim to none and so what he called me seemed like a non-issue.
Or so I thought.

It was the kind of moment that happens at the beginning of all those movies I spent years watching. If I had let myself dwell on it, I probably would have scoffed at how cliché it all could have been.

Oh, here we go again, yet another story about how the hot guy fell in love with the plain girl and they lived happily ever after. Just like that Twilight film. Without the vampires.

Except, it didn't go like that. Although for a very brief period, I thought it would. I truly believed that Mason Hayworth was the great love of my life.

But not every high school love affair has a happy ending. Sometimes, when something doesn't make sense to you, that's because it shouldn't. When something is too good to be true-it is.

He turned and walked away, his gait confident, shoes pounding against the wooden floor. Our whole interaction had lasted maybe five minutes at a stretch.

But it would impact my entire life.

"Lex!" I screech to my roommate. "Have you seen my keys? I'm running late." I throw my dirty blonde hair into a bun while I wander around the apartment looking for my car keys, my bag swinging wildly on my shoulder.

"Honestly D," she appears in the lounge and points at the table, "you need to get your eyes checked." She is dressed impeccably as usual, immaculate and already ready for work, even though she starts a half hour later than I do.

Sure enough, sitting innocently on the lounge table are the keys that I have just spent twenty minutes looking for. "I'm stressed okay, I'm running late."

"You wouldn't be running late if you had opened your eyes." She winks at me, her hands smoothing non-existent creases on her navy-blue blazer.

Damn, I hate it when she's right. Which is always.

I've only known Alexa for a few years now, she's my best friend Hailee's cousin and one of the sweetest people I have ever met. She's always cool, calm and collected. Pretty much everything I am not. I would probably hate her for it if she wasn't so nice.

I grab the damn keys and fling a hurried goodbye over my shoulder as I exit our apartment. Slamming the front door closed behind me, I walk as fast as I can in my heels, skidding to a stop in front of the elevator and repeatedly pressing the button until the doors finally slide open.

I check my watch again and tug the collar of my crisp grey blouse. The elevator seems to be taking a ridiculously long time this morning.

Isn't that always the case though? The day that you have all the time in the world, the elevator travels so fast you feel as though you are on a spacecraft shuttling towards earth at high speed. But when you are in a rush, it travels so slowly you could walk down the stairs faster. Even in these death traps that people call shoes.

It eventually reaches the ground floor, and my relief is palpable. I step out quickly, grabbing the blasted keys that made me late in the first place so tightly that I might have to see the school nurse as soon as I arrive.

It is then that I hear someone call my name.

"Diana?" I turn to see a very tall, very good-looking man approaching me, and have an internal debate on whether I should run or wait for him to get closer.

My raging hormones win, and I stay rooted to the spot.

"Diana? Diana Hamilton? Is that you?"

I feel like my mind should be going into full stalker mode alert but for some reason it's reluctant. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that this man shouting out my name is extremely attractive, or maybe it's because he does look kind of familiar. In fact, he looks too familiar.

I should have gone with my first instinct and run away.

Is it too late to do so now?

"It's Mason. Mason Hayworth," he says when he is close enough to me.

With those four words a million memories come flooding back. Lazy summer days filled with outdoor picnics and pool parties. Stolen kisses in the library. Puppy love and broken hearts.

"We went to high school together," he continues, as if my brain isn't replaying every moment I ever spent with him. As if seeing him this close for the first time in years isn't causing me to hyperventilate like I've just run a marathon.

I would say we did a hell of a lot more than go to high school together.

But potato/pot-ah-to.

"I remember." I try and force myself to remain calm, the fact that I am late for work has been shoved to the back of my thoughts. All that I can see is Mason. I can't help it, he just has that effect, and not just on me, on most people.

I mentally have a good old whinge that he just so happened to see me today when, let's face it; I am not looking my best. My hair is thrown up into a bun, a slight sheen of sweat is coating my brow and I'm flustered from being late.

Why couldn't he have caught me on a good day?

"It's good to see you." He smiles that annoyingly perfect smile. If I was prone to violence, I would have punched his teeth out. Where's Hailee when I need her? "You look," he seems to struggle to think of a word, "different. Good different."

And you look old. Is that a bald patch?

I should have said that. But my mouth wasn't working how it was supposed to. Damn him. Damn him and his perfect teeth and his stupidly perfect mop of hair and the fact that he takes my breath away just from this proximity. Damn him for turning me into a pile of mush when I should still be mad at him.

Stupid bastard.

"Are you free tonight? I would love to catch up?"

And just like that I am transported back five years, the chubby girl being asked out by the king of the school, unable to believe her luck.

I want to tell him I would rather go for an entire body wax than spend time with him. Which is saying something because I am a wimp. I want to tell him no and turn on my heel and walk away, leaving him to watch me go for once.
But my voice betrays me, "uh yeah sure."

"Just pop your number in my phone, I will give you a call later." He holds it out to me and without my brain telling them to do so, my fingers reach for it and type my number into the bloody thing.

Traitors.

"See you later then?" he flashes me one more smile before leaning in and kissing my cheek, leaving tingles in his wake. "Can't wait, Di."

I don't like being called 'Di'.

But I stand in silence as he walks away, leaving me frozen in front of my apartment building as people bustle around me. Just like the day I first met him; the whole exchange lasted a couple of minutes.

Yet it has shaken me right down to my core. And not just because he looks like the same boy I fell in love with all those years ago. But because, even though I thought I had moved on, he managed to reduce me to the girl I was in high school.

Someone I have done my absolute best to leave behind.