The Writer Who Couldn't Write

Writer's Brain

Although I thought about my up coming death the rest of that day, by the time the next day arrived, I had entirely forgotten. Until I saw Timothy leaning against my locker.

"What are you doing here?" I said annoyed. He looked at me weird. Then remembered. "We don't have art until second period."

"I know, I just thought I'd be nice and walk you to class so you could have a better look at my masterpiece of a face." Then he lowered his head so it was closer to mine. Probably to dramatize how short I am. I'm 5' 10", so I'm not that short, but still. "If I were you, I wouldn't change a thing."

"If you were me, you'd think differently." I told him defiantly. "Now may I get into my locker?"

"Are you sure you want to get into your locker?" He grins at me. He has that glint in his eye again. "I don't think you'll fit."

I glared at him. "Move."

"Alright, Princess!" He throws his hands up in surrender, still smiling. "You win. I'll help you, if you want."

"I don't want your help."

"So you admit that you're getting into your locker." His grin turns into a smirk.

"Even if I were, there would be no way you could help or fit in there with me, therefore no use for you. So how about you go away and leave me alone." As I spoke his smirk only grew. What have I gotten myself into?

The look on his face only made me feel more off balance, so my brilliant brain told my mouth to speak again. "And stop calling me princess." Did I just make it worse?

I was already grabbing things out of my locker, so I didn't look at him to see how he was taking my rejection.

"Ah, but you look like a princess!" He finally said in a French accent. It didn't really take that long for him to answer, but it felt like a full ten minutes had gone by.

"But I'm not a princess, so stop trying to make me one." I take on the same accent as him, and look him square in the eyes. That was a bad idea.

You know how they say pictures never lie? Yeah, actually they do. I have look at the picture in his file in the office many times before- don't ask- and never seen his eyes like this.They are the deepest, clearest blue eyes I have ever seen. They are surprised, but delighted.

"How can I make you what you already are?" His voice pulls me out of my stare. How long was I staring? I hope I didn't look like too much of a dork.

"Ah, but I am not!" I declare, full on French. "I am not your princess! I am but a lowly servant girl trying to make her way in this harsh world. I will not be tempted by your fantasies of me being a princess. I could not be a princess, I am not even a good servant! And a princess is a servant to her country." I had practiced this into the mirror in my bedroom before.

"You do not see it, but I do." His eyes still glitter. Ugh, stop thinking about his eyes.

"What can you see that I cannot?"

"So much, Princess, that you could not begin to understand." His voice lowers and he gazes directly into my eyes. He is fierce and determined. And laugh in his face. The moment ends.

"That's really funny. I've had that conversation with myself before. It was even out loud. Just like that!" I smile. "I was thinking about putting it into a book, but it doesn't fit into any of them and it doesn't have enough to become its own book."

He pulls his face away from mine and laughs too, but the sparkle in his eyes is gone. It makes me sad for some reason. But then the warning bell rings. Five more minutes until class starts.