The Unsure

Chapter Two

Chapter 2

The next day, I can barely stand to see Sarah. She is the same as yesterday, bright and full of life. But what I finally notice is not because of me. It was the sets of electronic words she occasionally snuck a peek at as she drove. The tap of fingers making her cheeks flush. The more I notice this, the more out of control my thoughts get. The more I want to just end everything and walk the rest of the way to school.

However, I keep up my act, holding the door open for her, walking her to her Government class. I even kiss her before parting ways for first period.

But there was no more ignoring it, I saw it. I saw the distant look in her eyes that didn't see me, but someone else. I almost want to laugh at the how long it took me to notice. Love really does blind and fuck you over.

"Okay class, settle down. I know you're all pumped for summer, but were still in session! " I am barely paying attention to my English teacher. How can I? Can you blame a guy for being worried as fuck over losing his dream girl? I bite the inside of my mouth, wondering what on earth I should do now. Should I confront her? Probably a bad idea. Do I keep going out with her then?

Even against my mind, my heart is deeply in love with her. How do I win her back? Is there a way to at this point? I just can't lose her now...

With the negative theories humming in my head, I draw little stick figures on my desk. Then little sad faces to match their plain features. Quickly, I erase them all away.

"Well, aren't you the artist?"

I look up, subconsciously placing my hand over the erased sketches. I didn't really talk much in this class. In general, I don't really talk to anyone anymore. It's not that I'm shy or anything, I just now see no point of making the whole school like me. Everyone at this cliche-filled school screams of boredom. I even do.

The girl who had spoken to me is fully turned in her chair now, glancing at my hands with mild interest. I frown, unsure if I've ever spoken to her a day of my life other than the occasional "pass these papers up" or "do you have a pen I could borrow?" She looks, however, like she expects a full reply though.

"I'm just bored," I claim, drumming my fingers on the plastic wood.

Her red lips smirk, and she nudges a few sheets underneath my musical number. "Here, you can use this bogus assignment to draw all the stick men you want."

Who in this time says bogus? I stare at her, noticing that's not all that cries throwback.

She is the typical wallflower, flat, dark hair swept into a ponytail, little to no makeup on. Well, other than that bright red lipstick. Jeez, its so red it's blinding. Her clothes smelled of cooking, not bad but somewhat obvious. Thai food, maybe? However that's the only exotic thing about her. Her outfit seems like something my grandma would adore and make her parents proud.

Boring, overdone, typical. Again, the school's plain student body.

"Thanks," I mumble, sliding the remainder of sheets back. She smiles, not a full toothed grin but one that knew something. What is her problem? Maybe I'm just being a grouch, but I want to make little contact with anything and anyone in this room.

Our teacher clears his throat, and immediately everyone including her turns their attention back up. Ah yes, back to wallowing in my sorrow.

Without even thinking of it, I begin drawing my army of sad stickmen once again.

Only this time, on a paper.