To the boy I hurt.
To the boy who hurt me.
To the boy I loved.
To the boy who never saw.
*Shout out to @SortaSixteen, the co-creator and thinker-upper*
The room is dead silent, and I cringe when I hear you whisper my name.
But I can’t ignore you.
So I turn to my left, and all I can notice is how brilliantly blue your eyes are, and the perfect slope of your nose-
“Is China in the Mediterranean Zone?”
The sibilants are loud, and some of our peers turn to look at us. I avert my eyes from yours, and whisper, more quietly than you:
“China is in the Chinese Zone.”
You nod, and go back to your test. Later on, you thank me profusely for letting you “compare answers.” I score one of two 100’s in all of 10th grade-
Guess who scores the other.
It seems suspicious, doesn’t it, how we sit next to each other and both get perfect scores. I can’t just let you fail, though. You have no idea what you’re doing. You spell China with a “Q”; you use the Coliseum as an example of Indian economic growth-
I don’t care that you don’t text me for any reason other than to ask for pictures of my homework. I don’t care that you only talk to me because you feel bad for cheating.
Ha, listen to me, the grade-obsessed girl-
I’d risk a zero for you.