Adorkable

Doodles and Directrices

I spent the entire afternoon yesterday trying to find out what his name was.

I went to Colin, who of course was no help because he was on his way to a Mathletes meeting and didn't want to lose his focus. I also think that Sydney told him not to help me.

I thought about asking someone who may actually know him, but by the time I finished stuttering out my sentence, they'd already left.

I even went to the pool to watch swim practice in case anyone used his name there. And no, I'm not a stalker (that would probably require me to actually know his name). I only know that he's a swimmer because he always, and I mean always, smells at least faintly of chlorine. So, with his build and everything, I just made an educated guess. Gosh, I hope he didn't see me there, otherwise I would look like a stalker.

This isn't technically stalking is it?

Anyway, all I got was his last name- Rogers.

I can't call him "Rogers"! Only cool people or rivals can call each other by their last names. It's sort of an unspoken rule.

So, I'm having to resort to the next best thing. And this better not go unappreciated, for chrysanthemum's sake. I had to wake up an extra thirty minutes early for this, walk ten minutes out of my way, and spend three dollars and nineteen cents.

Absolutely insane.

But hopefully worth it. And by that I mean worth sliding into class just before the tardy bell rings.

"Have a seat, Lacey," Mr. D instructs before turning to write something out on the board.

"S-sorry Mr. Dawson," I squeak, scrambling to the back row, only to find Popular Sports Boy already asleep.

So, I did the only thing I could think of at the time- I reached over and wrote a note on his paper.

I noticed you've been really tired lately, so I thought this would wake you up.

Oh, and I hope you don't have any dairy allergies, because there's cream in there.

Anyway, hope you enjoy! -Lacey :)

Oh no, was the smiley face too much? I've totally blown this, haven't I?

Deciding there was no going back now, I place what he doesn't know to be a guilt-coffee (and I intend to keep it that way) in front of him on his desk and take out my books, trying to refocus on Mr. D's lecture.

"Alright class! Who can tell me- what does a baby parabola drink for breakfast?" 

Hopefully not guilt-coffee.

"I don't understand the question, sir," Colin, being well, Colin, completely misses the point of poor Mr. D's attempt at humor.

"It's simple Colin," he pauses for dramatic effect. "Quadratic formula!"

Wow, a real knee-slapper, that one.

"Today we'll be discussing the directrices of different conic sections, their purpose, and how to find them from the equation and graph..."

I pull out my gel pens and start drawing on myself to calm my residual anxiety a bit, only to realize that I picked today of all days to wear long sleeves. I mean, it looks great with my overall-dress and knee socks, but it also means I have a smaller canvas to work with today.

See folks, this is what happens when you pick fashion over practicality.

After covering every inch of my left hand in mandala designs (Lord knows I can't use my left to draw on the right), I start doodling in the margins of my textbook. Then covering my notebook page...

And now I'm out of space.

I could do my knees...

Before putting the pen to my skin again, I notice Popular Sports Boy's notebook sticking out from underneath his head.

You don't think he'd mind if I just doodled a little bit on his paper, do you? You know, for my mental health.

Hesitantly, I lean over and begin drawing a small flower, a petunia, on his paper. As soon as the flower is done, I jump back, like I'd just done something illegal.

Wait, did I?

Does this count as vandalism?

I study him and his breathing pattern carefully for a few minutes. After observing no changes that would indicate him waking up, I reach over and draw a second petunia, right next to the first. I put the finishing touches on the flower and look up to make sure I haven't woken him up.

Holy Hyacinth, I'm so dead! He's awake! He's watching me! He's... smiling at me?

Utterly dumbstruck, I manage to squeak out a quick "sorry" before scooching as far over to my side of the bench as possible without falling off of it (that would really make my day, wouldn't it?), burying my bright red face in my hands.

What was I thinking? How could I possibly think this would be a good idea? He's never going to speak to me again! No amount of coffee can make up for the despicable acts I've committed. He's gonna report me to- to someone, and I'll be on probation or something for the rest of my high school career, and I'll never get a good recommendation letter to become an animator for Disney, and I'll end up asking people "do you want fries with that?" for the rest of my earthly life!

Breathe, Lacey, breathe!

"Alright class, that's all for today! I'll see you all tomorrow, bright and early. Now get out of here or suffer the wrath of my puns!"

As I pack up my things, mostly with my hair covering my still-blushing face, I notice that Popular Sports Boy is trying to cover his paper.

Oh great, I've embarrassed him with my horrible drawings! This is just perfect...

Then, his hand moves ever so slightly, and I see that he's copied my flowers.

He's drawn a whole meadow of petunias around mine.

I may not know your name, Popular Sports Boy, but I do know your secret:

Deep down, you're just as dorky and cute as I am.