February 2012

Carmy used to watch you. Wait, no, that sounds creepy.

He used to observe, I mean, it was hard not to. You and your friends were always so loud and giggly, and when he was on his own, he liked to people watch.

But your friends liked to gossip, and bitch, and he thought he’d be dead if he ever embarrassed himself in front of you. He thought anyway.

Until you got sat next to him in English and put your fancy little highlighters on the desk between the two of you. To share. Share.

And, oh god, he swears he fell in love on the spot, especially when you started talking through the analysis of some shitty poem with him. You’re nice.

You’re actually nice.

You started talking to him in the halls, you talked to him in gym class, you started doing study sessions and introducing him to your friends.

You went over to his house. He went over to yours. You taught him how to kiss.

And now, you say at your usual lunch table, surrounded by friends, hastily removing your bag from the seat next to you and waving him over with that big, beaming smile. Sweet. So sweet.

God, he’s in love.

“What?… You want me to sit here?… Y’sure?…”