Samantha was young when I met her. She was fifteen and I was seventeen and at the time I didn't give her any thought past the one class we were in together. My mind was too busy thinking about girls my own age, ones I wanted to fuck. Then one day we had a substitute who let us listen to music while we did homework. But she didn't have headphones and I did. Sam sat in the back of the classroom, away from the other eleventh graders, terrified of the older students. Before I had the chance to put mine in I heard a quiet tune that sounded familiar coming from a few desks behind me. I decided to wait until I could figure out which song it was and when I realized it was one of my favorite bands singing, I began to wonder about the green-eyed girl a little more than I had before. She didn't seem like a rock music fan. She looked like a girl who would like One Direction and Rihanna. I noticed a slow crescendo in the noise coming from the back of the room and eventually so did the teacher. He called out from behind his desk to tell the girl to either put headphones in or turn the music off, and since she had none, her phone went mute.
Sam was smart. That was why as a tenth grader, she was in my calculus class. A few weeks after the incident with the sub, our regular teacher was absent yet again. So we had another substitute, this time a stocky, big-breasted woman with outgrown roots and oddly shaped glasses frames. Her voice was shrill, but the words she said made me happy. She told us we could listen to music while doing homework. Again, I listened for Sam's slight sounds and sang along to the Green Day and Sleeping With Sirens in my head until the teacher silenced her again. This time went a little differently than the first. Like the last time, I put my earbuds in and listened to my own music. I picked up a pencil and continued with the homework but instead of writing algebraic equations I found myself writing "Samantha" on the side of my paper while I was thinking. I decided that whatever unrequited feelings I was developing might as well have been built on some real material, so I picked up my book and notebook and hesitantly headed to the back of the room and sat next to Sam. I only thought through what I was about doing for about a second and a half before I realized that my legs were carrying me towards her and suddenly I was swinging behind the desk to the left of Sam's. She looked at me with one wide eye - between the last time we had a substitute and now she had changed her hairstyle so her right eye was eclipsed by a thick curtain of violet hair, most of which was pulled from the back to the front - and cracked lips parted as if to say something about my presence but without contemplating my following actions I shoved an earbud in her left ear and smirked. Her eyes were still wide and a slight smile crept across her freckled face. Her hands reached up to cover her mouth and she continued to stare me down with eyes thickly lined with ebony.
"I love this song..." she said in a hushed tone through the gaps in her fingers.
"I thought you might," I whispered back with a grin. Oh Well, Oh Well by Mayday Parade.
Samantha's hands retreated from her lips and cheeks, right hand falling into her lap, revealing a close-lipped smile. Sam had dimples. I thought dimples were hideous but I could look past it. At first I thought maybe I loved Sam but then I remembered all the girls in my grade with bursting chests, glossy lips, and long tan legs, and I remembered my girlfriend. Sam was pushing a C cup, her lips were salmon in color (never dressed with lipstick) and naturally pouted, and her skin was paler than mine. There was no doubting she wasn't ugly, but she wasn't the most gorgeous girl I had seen.
The next day we had the same substitute, I think her name was Miss Parler, and she again allowed us to listen to music. This time I went straight to the back and sat with Sam, keeping in mind that I was not in love with her, I was in love with Stella. I extended out my right hand with an earbud hanging loosely in my grip and she accepted it with a small chuckle. She then turned her attention back towards her math book and her smile slowly faded as she became more and more enveloped in her work. I realized after a few seconds that I was staring at her instead of doing my own work and mentally slapped myself. If Stella saw me ogling at someone like Sam she'd shoot me. But I couldn't resist. I didn't know much about Sam but as any teenage boy, I was curious. At the moment we were listening to Forget About Me by Escape the Fate, which she seemed to be enjoying, but I wanted more. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and swiped the lockscreen and scrolled through my iTunes rock playlist. With a couple taps of my thumb, Fake Your Death was streaming into Sam's pierced ear and her pupils immediately shrunk and her jaw dropped. She looked at me and then whispered excitedly, "My Chemical Romance is my favorite band ever." She continued on to say that the first time she heard the song and watched the video she nearly cried due to being a longtime MCR fan and that I made her day. I ran a hand through my brown hair and gave her a boyish smile and she returned that smile. She then asked me something I never thought to bring up:
