I’m tired. My desk is uncomfortable, the wooden ledge digging into my elbows as I lean forward to read the side note in my copy of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. The actors on the tape drone on with their British accents, lamenting the woes of Helena and Demitrius. I don’t understand why Mr. Smith won’t let us read it ourselves. I’m capable of reading Shakespeare. At least I think I am. I stretch as the tape comes to an end, closing the book gently and laying it in my bag, packing up pencil, pen, and water bottle. I have a biology test next period, one that I should have studied for a lot more than I actually did. Standing up I yawn and reach to run my fingers through my hair, not realizing that my hair is safely secured in a ponytail high atop my head. I snatch my hand down as quickly as a deer running away from a hunter, nervous that someone saw my blunder. My eyes dart about checking to see if anyone was watching. I make a mental scan. Not you, you, you, or you. Not you or you- OH. I look at you, just for one second, only to see you were already looking at me. Your blue-green eyes twinkling at me, a small smile on your face. Your grin makes me feel a jolt all through my bloodstream. Your eyes look like they’re saying so much more than you ever have. But how can I know? I drop my gaze like it’s a hot potato and move on, not looking at you for more than a millisecond. This can’t be true. I’ve analyzed everything about us. I’m not your type. We run in different circles. We don’t talk all the time. I’m not pretty and you’re so handsome. I can’t have seen what I saw. I was imagining things, hoping for something much too far fetched to ever become my reality. But for one second, just one, I thought your eyes told me I love you. So I walk away when the bell rings, positive that nothing of the sort could ever happen. I go and take that biology test without giving you a second thought. I go home and watch television, read books, practice my All-State choir music. Then I pull up my computer and sit down to write, and the first thing I think of is you and your expression, flashing so briefly at me. And I think that maybe one day, maybe twenty years from now, I’ll see that same look from you again. But when the time comes I’ll know for sure that that look was meant to say
I love you