Sweet Creature - G.D. (On hold/ under rewrite)

2

I sat in English class, my last class of the day, wishing the school day was over.

Class barely began and I was already bored out of my mind. I drew random circles on my desk with the tip of my eraser as I waited for the teacher to get up from her desk chair and begin class.

I had this class with Grayson as well, and he did the same routine of observing me as he does with every other class.

Finally, the teacher sent her last email, stood up from her chair, and came to the front of the class to finally begin the lesson.

"Okay guys, as you all know we just finished our poetry unit two weeks ago. Last Monday I assigned you guys a project in which you were to write your own poem in whatever style you'd like. I thought since today is the due date, we'd present our poems. We won't get through all presentations today, but we'll continue tomorrow. Please get out your projects," Ms. Alexander said, and walked back over to her desk.

She pulled out the class list of students and began to go down the list alphabetically.

I was sure Grayson would end up presenting his, and I had a strong feeling his would be very interesting. In a good way, that is.

Students began reciting their poems in front of the class, one by one. Some poems were really good, others seemed to have hardly any effort put into them, and others were take much less seriously.

With ten minutes left of class, Ms. Alexander called up the last student of the day to recite their poem.

"Alright, and our last presenter for the day is.. Grayson," She said, looking up and sending him a small smile.

"O-okay," he nervously stuttered.

Grayson took in a deep breath and stood up from his desk with a sheet of white paper in his hands. His hands shakily held the sheet of paper, and he took in another deep breath to try and calm himself. He slowly walked up to the front of the class, holding his poem tightly in his hands so that no one could see any of the words.

A small smile formed upon my lips as I watched him walk up to the front of the class, smiling at his awkward, yet adorable manner.

He wore a striped black and white T-shirt, along with black ripped jeans and white converse. His glasses rested on the bridge of his nose, and his brown locks of hair lazily laid upon his head. This was his typical look, and I loved it.

His breathing was heavy and uneasy, the paper in his hand shaking nonstop. He shifted his body from side to side, repeatedly opening and closing his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

He hated public speaking, was something I knew, and I could see how much anxiety it gave him.

"Grayson? Are you ready?" Our English teacher asked, her voice gentle.

He looked at her, his lips pursed, and slowly nodded his head in response. "F-for my p-poem I-" he paused, "I w-wrote-" he spoke, before his face went pale, his eyes went wide, dropping the paper, as he quickly left the classroom.

Everyone looked around, confused, some people giggling at his actions. Students shook their heads, quietly laughing at the poor boy.