She stands in the doorway,
in her brown, curly-haired,
pout-faced, pink t-shirted,
ripped jean outfit.
She crosses her
swimmer's arms,
shifts her powerpuff backpack,
and sits quietly in her desk.

His heart races with the pen
in her left hand,
moving back and forth
across her pink-lined paper.
Her dark lashes cup
oceans of her deep blue eyes
and she smirks.
She's written a poem
and no one will read it.
He knows
that she knows.

What she doesn't know,
is that he saw
the way her lips shaped
like an upside down rainbow
when the larger, lighter- haired,
thick-glassed loser
walked to the back of the room.
Her heart raced his fingers
moving back and forth
across his calculator.
She felt the eyes of someone
to her left;
the boy with the spiked, blonde hair,
gleaming coffee eyes, khaki-
pantsed, plaid teed boy
that all of the skinny girls
in the feathery sundresses
flocked to,
giggling, and pushing back
their hair.

She might have felt her heart
move slightly with his shifting eyes,
but she shifted too,
and the moment was over.
She wrote another poem
that no one else would read.
She knew,
that he knew.
What she didn't know,
is the boy with the calculator
wasn't doing homework;
he was calculating the seconds
it would take
before she looked away
so he could look forward.
He saw the spikey blonde boy
glance over,
and for a moment he knew,
that he knew,
that she knew,
that he knew,
that she didn't.

And when the bell rings,
the boy in blonde
will party away his infatuation;
The girl in curls
will write about her day;
The boy with the numbers
will forget to finish his math-
Again,
again,
again.
 
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