High school alone is the hardest part of any teenager's life, but when it gets mixed in with an awkward adolescent's idea of liking someone, life turns into a whirlwind emotional adventure. Like my plate wasn't overflowing already with a chemistry teacher who called me "Crash" (a name I acquired after dropping a beaker during our first lab), a sassy algebra teacher who said that I didn't have the aptitude for the subject, or a French teacher who flirted with the class and laughed at her own jokes. No, I complicated things even further because stupid me fell in love.
It all started one morning at my locker as I fumbled to find the French book I hadn't used in about a month. In the crowded locker bay someone stepped on my toes and, consequently, rammed me into the absolute zenith of high school popularity standing to my right. I accidentally hit Miss Popularity while she attempted to apply lipstick. In the reflection of the three mirrors that hung in her locker, I saw a red smear across her acne-free, rouged cheek. I also saw the image of the person responsible for this collision. When I turned to get a better glimpse, there he was.
Lockers may have slammed, Miss Popularity may have pouted, but everything stopped for me. All I saw was him. It felt like someone had reached down my throat and, with strong fingers, drew my breath and stomach from my trembling body. His sapphire eyes drilled deep into my heart, and every nuance of his face became eternally etched into my mind. The tall, thin body stood out like a glistening jewel among the dull coal of the locker bay. Sensing my eyes burning deep into him, he turned around and said, "Ah, sorry. My bad." The words were spoken by a voice that could talk a man down from a ledge. I could tell by the tone and inflection that he felt deep remorse in his soul for displacing my body-or maybe the burrito he had at lunch didn't agree with him, I'm not really sure. From that moment on, during every free second, I suddenly became busy thinking about him. Wondering about this boy made sleepless nights overflow with sweet images. Dull math periods were filled with idol daydreams. I became obsessed with this senior with John Travolta blue eyes.
I wasn't the only one who decided that having Blue Eyes as a boyfriend was a good idea. Miss Popularity decided that he, out of all the salivating dogs begging, whimpering, pawing for her attention, would be the perfect playful puppy. Worse yet, I had to witness her primitive flirting ritual in the lunchroom.
She would strut toward the soda machine, swaying her hips from side to side, in an effort to catch one of his incandescent blue eyes. She was beautiful and she knew it. This was when it really started to get good-for him I mean. Purposely, her skirt inched up revealing her fleshy thigh as she struggled to remove a quarter nestled in her warm pocket. Blue Eyes was rabid with lust. Foam gushed out of his mouth...