Y/n's POV:
"I think," Shawn reaches over across the small desk in the very quiet classroom, reaching for lined paper, saying his words and sounding like he's deep in thought, "that we should write the poem where every ending of each line rhymes."
"You don't think that's too overused?" I raise my eyebrows skeptically. I've been writing poetry for years and it gets a little annoying sometimes to see the same unoriginal poems that always rhyme. Besides, I barely even know this kid, and it's no surprise he's going to take the route the whole class is taking as well.
"It just doesn't sound like poetry if it doesn't rhyme," He laughs a little and flashes a smile so beautiful it could've been a poem all by itself, well of course if the poet writing about that show stopping smile used the right words to describe it.
"Okay fine," I sigh, but still thinking, trying to see how unoriginal this Shawn really is, he gets a ton of fuss but I never understood why, "but what are we going to write the poem about?"
He giggles again, this time throwing his head back in the slightest, showing off his Adams apple on his throat, "you clearly seem to know what's best y/n you tell me."
"You can't just put in one piece of effort, and based off of past experiences with people, they see my English grade and basically leave me to write it," I roll my eyes to myself, trying to ignore the fact of how good he looks.
Sighing, he writes his name, rather neatly at the top of the paper, glancing around the empty classroom to observe the fact that it's so empty for a lunch period. Usually everyone comes in because of how behind they usually are work wise.
"I'm not saying I haven't seen your grade, but I do know you're good at poetry and picking topics."
What he's saying strikes me as a little suspicious, considering everything I write in class, the teacher picks the topic for us, relieving stress of finding something good and intriguing.
"How would you even know this?" I turn in my seat so my knees are facing him, and I already know my face is twisted in curiosity.
"Nothing," He shyly looks even more down at his paper, scribbling my name down as well, trying to avoid further conversation.
"Shawn tell me," I take the paper away from him, scared of how he may have seen other work that I've done, outside of writing poetry based off of plays we've read in class.
"Your notebook," he pauses, running a hand nervously through his hair, "when it fell one day I forgot to give back one of your poems when people were helping you pick them up, a-and I read one you wrote and It was pretty amazing."
An angry blush creeps up my neck to my cheeks, everything burning with shame, knowing what I've written wasn't that amazing.
"I want it back," I spit, plopping my folder on top of my agenda, and hurriedly packing up my materials.
"y/n wait I'm sorry, but It's at my house." He shamefully looks down, knowing I won't be happy with this.
"You took it home?" I almost yell, matter of fact I almost went ballistic. I never show my work to anybody and the fact some random boy, who can say whatever he wants read it, makes me want to throw the nearest chair.
"It was inspiring to me, and I was going to ask you if I could use it in a song I'm working on," Shawn's cheeks go red too, me never really guessing that he wrote music, or even played an instrument.
"God do whatever you want with it," my tone softens, making me feel more comfortable by the fact that he has told me something that not everyone knows. If everyone did, the whole school would be talking about it. Nothing goes untouched when it comes to Shawn.
"I didn't mean to make you mad y/n, I just wanted you to know that you are especially talented in this area of writing and I'm not trying to just get you to do everything, but I kind of want to see your thought process when you do something like this." Shawn ends his compliment filled speech with a clearing of the throat, but quickly shifts his eyes from mine to the floor, packing up his stuff as well.
"I'll write the poem," he mumbles, a string of sadness in his tone, "don't worry about it."
With that he slowly makes his way to the door and leaves, while I just stand there at our desk stunned, not exactly sure if I ever want that poem back.
_____________________________________________________________________________________~It's bad but I thought you all deserved an update, even if it's not the best I've done.
~Leah
