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Lunch.

I can’t tell.

Is he looking at me? His eyes keep darting back and forth, from his lunch group to mine. My friends notice it and we become a chorus of giggling and flirtatious looks towards his table full of muscular football players. He’s different though. He’s got a jock body but he’s so…unusual. Not like the others. His skin is a shade darker, his eyes a bit lighter and his hair is the color of the Nutella spread on my 7-grain-bread slices.



The way he talks in strange too. Instead of three curse words per sentence like his peers, he smiles and laughs excessively. I love his laugh. It’s deep and mellow and makes his eyes crinkle up in tiny wrinkles on his face. Oh, he’s laughing now. I can hear I from across the room. Like music to my ears. He’s an artist but his friends don’t know that. I see him drawing sometimes; his pencil working ferociously on his sketchpad. Miss Sejas pins his artwork on her showcase board in the main hallway and I walk past it regularly to appreciate his creative mind. He’s so unique. Not like the others.


Mel leans over and whispers “You know he’s staring at you right?” Yes I do know. I try not to stare back. But oh, how easy it is to get lost in his chocolate eyes…They’re so brown! Now his friends are looking over here. What could this mean? I desperately search my brain for the knowledge I’ve collected throughout my teenage years reading Seventeen and Cosmo like they’re holy scripture. I remember an article in last month’s issue; I think it was called “How to tell if he’s into you”. Number 1, he stares at…My thoughts are interrupted by the bell. I hurry to gather my things but I can’t find my purse. I search frantically around the table for the faux leather knock off; God bless Goodwill Thrift Stores. By the time I bring my gaze up from the floor, the second lunch bell rings. Great, I’m going to be late to Miller’s class again, and this time he’ll really kill me. The lunch room is completely emptied and silent except for the hum of the oversized dishwashers and the gossip of the lunch ladies coming from the kitchen. I give up on my search for my bag, it’s useless. I’ll look for it after school in the Lost and Found. I open the cafeteria doors and make my way towards Room 103. I round the corner and that’s when I see him; leaning against the concrete wall next to my classroom, right hand in his jean pocket and left hand holding a faux leather knock off. He had my purse all along.

I can’t tell; is he looking at me? I approach him slowly. He smiles and his eyes crinkle. My heart melts and I stare straight into his eyes. He does the same. He hands me my purse and his fingertips leave a trail of warmth across the back of my hand. I don’t dare look up; I think my face is the color of Mom’s tomato sauce on spaghetti night. Is he staring at me now? Is he?

No he’s not staring…he’s kissing me.



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