His and Hers

Hers

           A smile flickers across my face when I see him coming down the hallway. He’s at the opposite end from me, strutting in my direction like he’s the definition of cool. And he is. There are girls passing out on his left and boys looking on in jealousy to his right. The students clear the way for him and his crew as they move down the hall. The sounds of sighs and wishful mumbling meet my ears. Then nothing, because all I hear are his footfalls as they meet the linoleum.

           I can feel my palms start sweating. I am losing grip on my binder, not to mention my sanity. My heart starts beating a mile a minute, attacking the inside of my ribs with such force that I’m sure he can hear it all the way down the hall.

            He jokes with his friends, all of them erupting in laughter at his every word. He is the epitome of swag. His beautifully built body is the perfect physical specimen. His fluffy golden- brown locks glimmer in the fluorescent light. And his eyes, greener than emeralds, sparkle with an intensity I can see from here.

           He’s close now. My breathing gets fast, and my mouth dries up even though I’m pretty sure I’m drooling. He’s only a few feet away now. We make eye contact. I gasp and attempt, unsuccessfully, to swallow.

           Suddenly he’s right in front of me. He does one of his standard hair flips, flicking his amazing hair out of his glorious face.

           “Hey,” he nods at me.

           Be cool, I tell myself. But all of his gorgeousness standing in front of me makes me nervous and excited all at once, so after some sort of cough- wheeze- snort- gasp sound and an all- too- girlish giggle, I manage to croak out, “Hi!” sounding just a little too happy. Smooth.

           He gives me a tiny smile and moves on just like that, his posse trailing along behind him.  I watch him walk away for a while before moving on myself. Discreetly, I turn my head back around and find him looking back down the hall towards me. He’s not looking at me, but I bet he’s looking for me. Probably.

           I then turn around and run straight into the trophy case in the hall and fall backwards onto the ground. I groan and rub the surfacing bruise on my forehead. I feel my cheeks begin to burn. I sincerely hope he didn’t witness that. I roll onto my stomach and slowly stand up. Picking up my books and what’s left of my dignity, I glance back to see him walking away, running a hand through his hair with one hand while closing an open locker with the other, cool as ever.

           I replay our little conversation a thousand times in my head as I walk to class, relishing the fact that it was he who started it.

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 His

           I did not just run into a locker while she was watching, did I? I rub the top of my head with one hand and close the locker door with the other. I glance back at her as discreetly as my wounded pride can manage to find her picking up some fallen books. She is so sweet. But more importantly, it would seem that she saw nothing. Thank goodness.

           The day drags on. Three periods go by without my seeing her. Then it’s lunch, so I follow my friends to the cafeteria, hoping desperately that I’ll bump into her. I sit with my friends at our table. I have a perfect view of the door. But I can’t look at it too often. No, that would be much too obvious. I try to act nonchalant.  I am unbelievably giddy on the inside. It’s kind of pathetic, really, but with a girl like her, it’s understandable.