November 17, 2010
By , South Bend, IN
He disgusts me. There’s no other way to put it. He smells like booze. And we’re in school! What does he do, have a little something in his breakfast cereal every morning?
He’s staring at me like he can’t figure out what I just said. I wouldn’t be surprised he couldn’t. He seems unable to understand even basic English unless you say it reeeaaal slow and make lots of elaborate hand gestures. He just. Keeps. Staring. Then a smile slowly creeps across his face, like he just realized a clever joke. Ha ha ha.

“Come on.” he says laughingly. “Seriously. I know your just dying to go with me.” He emphasizes the world “dying” like a poor imitation of bad acting. His minions guffaw admiringly.

“Nope.” I say, grinning back at him. I’m acting friendly. Hopefully he’ll go away sooner if I do.

He frowns. Then his expression clears and he plows on. “I wanted to ask you for a long time, but I was, like, afraid you wouldn’t want to go with me, because you’re so pretty, and smart, and . . . you know . . .” He’s playing the shy boy card now. How typical.

“Noooooooooo.” I draw out the word as long as possible so it has a better chance of reaching his brain. Please just go away. Leave me alone.

“You’re kidding!” He says. “Seriously?”

What does it take to reach this guy? Still keeping a pleasant expression plastered on my face, I start tapping my fingers against my books and chanting rhythmically. “No. No. No. No. No.”

This seems to annoy him. “Why not? Think you’re too good for me or something?”

Of course I think that, dimwit.

“Of course I don’t think that. I’d just . . . rather not go. With you. I mean.”

“Fine, whatever. Like anyone else would take you. You’re such an ugly little loser.”

“Ooo-kay.” I breathe, but he’s already lumbering off and doesn’t hear me. I’m only halfway down the hall when I hear him again.

“Chelsea! Oh my god, I was hoping I’d see you. Look, I, uh, wanna ask you something.” His replication of bashfulness works like a charm. Chelsea giggles and flicks her long hair flirtatiously. I can already tell her answer will be yes. Poor girl. Better her than me, though.

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