“Hi, Harry.”

Your voice nearly sends me into cardiac arrest as I take my seat at my assigned table. The assigned table that just so happens to sit me right next to you. It’s the sweetest kind of torture. Like a low hanging fruit dangling just out of reach.

Jesus, I’m an idiot. Comparing you to fruit? You’re not a fruit. You’re a whole garden.

Okay, I really need to shut my brain up now.

Nervously lowering myself into the squeaky chair, I find myself sending you a painfully awkward smile. “H-hi.”

God, I’m always a nervous wreck around you. Never able to get more than two syllables out without blubbering like an idiot. I should just keep my head down, focus on my school work, and ignore your presence beside me. But that’s hard when you’re always trying to strike up conversation.

Which, baffles me to no extent. You are… Well, you’re beautiful. Definitely the most beautiful girl in all of our grade—maybe even the whole school. Not only do your looks serve with with the highest form of popularity, but you’re also very active in every extracurricular too. The class president, the captain of the cheerleading team, the future fucking Prom Queen. You are this school’s ’it’ girl. So, why do you even bother wasting a single breath on me?

I’m… Let’s just say I’m nowhere near your level. In fact, your level is so far away, I can’t even see it. I’ve always known my status at school—aka the lowest of the lows—and I’ve accepted it. A nerd who’s either getting picked on, ignored, or pleaded with for homework answers. Most people keep their distance, not wanting my weak reputation to rub off on them. Yeah, it kind of sucks—being the butt of a lot of peoples ‘Would You Rather’ games does sting—but I’m okay with the quiet life. With going under the radar and being unknown. Glazed over. Ignored.

But you don’t ignore me. No, you demand my attention sometimes. Annoying me endlessly when I’m trying to focus just to get one stumbled over word out of me. I don’t get it.

Is it a joke to you? A way to make me look stupid because of how flustered I get? Are you making fun of me along with the rest of them?

I don’t want to believe that. I choose to believe you’re better than that. Kinder, more open minded than those assholes. But, then again, you do share a lunch table with those same assholes that make my life hell, so… Who’s to say you aren’t just like them?