The bus comes to a stop. I say, “Thank you,” to the bus driver. He actually says, “You’re welcome.” He only says that every now and then. I get off my bus and enter the sweltering desert heat. I pick up my binder and use it as a shield to protect myself from the sun’s diligent gaze.

She’s walking behind me. She always does. That girl with the silky blond hair and gorgeous eyes. I mustn’t look at her, but a few glimpses are enough. I dare not see her eye-to-eye for I fear she’ll sense the longing I feel for her. I continue walking towards home. I do not look behind me to check if she’s still there. I lower my binder. Shade. I look off to my right and look into a neighbor’s car. She’s just a few paces behind me. I pick up my binder. Sun. It’s as if she can read my mind. “Does he want me? Will he ask me for my name and a date?” I flinch at the though. Such a wrong desire, but oh, what a feeling! I lower my binder once more. Short-lived shade. I slow my pace. It seems as if she does, too. I move to my right and look off to the left. It’s as if I want her to walk next to me. She’s not coming any closer, but she’s still right behind me. I pick up my binder for the final stretch home. Prolonged sun. I begin sweating, but not because of the blazing heat, but of the nervousness to talk to her. It’s now or never: a few more steps and I’ll take the curve home. Five. Is she interested? Four. How should I begin? Three. Will she just ignore me? Two. Will she reject me? One. What about my love, Tori? I take the curve home.