The boy cannot explain it. She entered into the room and even after 1,000 years of knowing her, he would have reacted the same: his heart reached its hand out toward his brain where his brain was moved. All she did was speak to another person – he wasn’t sure if that other person was a man or a woman because she was right there, speaking with her voice – and flashed those eyes at him, shining brightly from behind her lashes only to look back at the person she was speaking to.
The boy felt a resting unease. Should he continue smiling? Oh, wait, how long has he been smiling? He looked away from her, he adjusted his shirt, brought his leg upon his knee, scratched at his peach fuzz and cleared his throat.
The girl could not explain it. He was sitting there and she couldn’t remember why she entered into the room; she never would. His jaw practically leaped out into her view as she spoke to her friend – which friend was it? Her name was … Jennie? Jane? Jamber-Jabba-Theresa? The girl connected a few words and spit them out, it seeming to work, but she wondered how long she had been staring at him, looking to the wall behind her friend, back to the boy and there the boy was smiling at her like a cool doofus. She felt a black hole forming inside her stomach and it unquestionably led to him.
The girl slowly rushed her eyelids to hide herself. Was he still looking at her? She opened her eyes back to her friend, they were still talking – perhaps about class … The girl eventually said goodbye to her friend, turning around to peak at the seat that held that beautiful boy.
The boy stood up as she still spoke to her friend. He circled around and waited. Was he being creepy? No – no – he’ll only wait around the corner a minute. He pulled his phone out. Starting now – no – no – starting now. And now. Okay, now.
The girl disappeared behind the wall for an insurmountable minute, while the boy waited for her friend to walk away.
The boy was nowhere to be seen. Oh, shoot. She looked to her left and right, even used her flattened hand to block out the sun. The girl sat down and opened her binder atop the table, beginning to scribble … She supposed that it wasn’t meant to be … Whatever meant to be is … She wondered about his voice. Would he have been cocky or pleasantly headstrong?
The girl was looking down at her binder and scribbling an apparent masterpiece, so of course the boy did what he had to do by sitting his ass down across from her, his shadow interrupting her page.
The girl looked up, raising her adorable chin, and there was the boy; she saw his pupils dilate above his ticking smile, while colorful blackness warped the view around him.
The two locked eyes.
In unison, the two of them spoke:
Each of the two voices varied in tone, but nonetheless conveyed victorious relief and unthought.
Now comes the hard part.
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