There's a boy sitting in front of me.
One table up, two chairs to the right.
I use my pencil to help me squint.
He's got nice hair.
If only his stupid hand would quit blocking his face.
I think he's doing homework. Looks like math.

I hate math.

It's too quiet in here.

He's texting someone.
Probably his girlfriend.
I'll bet she likes math.

His leg is twitching, and he's sitting at the edge of
his chair.
He looks stressed.
Or maybe disciplined.
Intently studying his calculator.
What is he really thinking?
About his math,
Or his girlfriend,
Or that girl in the blue sweater
One table down from him?

He can probably hear every scratch of my pencil.
I get out my glasses to help me see.
Is that too obvious?
Yeah, he's definitely cute.
But I don't think he's all that good at math,
Because he's counting on his fingers.

Legs outstretched,
Penny loafers lazily erected off of his feet.
He touches his face a lot.
Insecure, maybe?
Or just thoughtful …
He's fidgety.
He's texting again.
I wonder if his girlfriend wears blue sweaters.
I bet he dreams of going to Princeton, or Harvard, |
or Stanford.

He sees a girl in a pink shirt run across the room.
He smiles.
(He has a beautiful smile)
Maybe he dreams of having a family.

I hope he marries someone
Whom he meets at Harvard
I hope they have a daughter
Who likes to wear pink shirts
(Or maybe blue sweaters)

And I hope, one day, his daughter meets a boy
Who is one table up
And two chairs to the right.