Charlie's Story ~ My Eighth Grade Dilemma ~ Book One

This Perfect Boy Called Ethan Nigma

That feeling disappears just as it appears.  My eyes slide from his, but I can still feel his gaze on me.  That's when I start running.  I either eat or run away from my problems.  And it looks like I'm out of junk food, so eating's out of the question.  I'm quite surprised about how thin I am.  I mean, not just healthy thin.  Anorexic thin.  Now, I don't want to put any Anorexic people to shame but, they are unhealthily skinny.  I have pretty broad, sharp shoulders then my body becomes narrower and narrower.  I have an hourglass shape.  As in, a really tiny hourglass shape.  When I wear something too tight, or anything tight at all, I can clearly see where my torso ends.  I don't have much for a torso.  I have a tiny chest, and a narrow wasit line and thats it.  But my legs are longer than the average eighth grade girl's.  They are pretty slim but bulge in the most annoying places.

Destany isn't here yet.  Where could that girl be?  I don't want to take too long in the band locker rooms than I have to so I rush in.  I finally reach my locker and count the numbers I pass as I open the lock.  3 right...2 left...1 right...  I pull my lock off and I get a spine tingling shock around my waist.  I whip around to find Ethan smirking at me, almost looking like he is really smiling.  He did it again.  That annoying but slightly sensual thing.  Well, at least it feels sensual to me.  It's just the way he grabs my waist.  He presses his hand into my wasitline, where I am most ticklish, and pulls me towards him ever so slightly.  I have a hard time admiting, even to myself, that I like that feeling.  It makes me feel like he knows I'm there.  Like he loves me too.  But I can't think such foolish things.  How could he EVER love someone like me?  I have too many flaws to count, I let my nerves consume me when talking to him, and I don't know how to say a pety thing like "I love you" to him.  I hate myself for it, and the thought leaves me heartbroken and somber.

But I can't help but stare at him.  My gaze starts at his hair.  It always looks the same but I find it fantastic.  I love messing with it, even though he doesn't trust me with his hair.  Then, my gaze drops down ever so slightly to his eyes.  Then his perfectly pointed nose.  Then his lips.  His lips... I wish I could do something bold enough, at this moment, like press my lips to his.  But I could never do that. And he would never accept it.  Ethan Nigma.  The boy with perfectly soft looking lips.  The boy I can't have but want, with an undying passion.  My heart beats faster, more frantically as my gaze drops down to his chest.  He doesn't have muscle, any muscle that shows through his clothes at least, but I like scrawny guys.  Then I reach his hands.  His fingers, like mine, are long but healthily thin.  My fingers are bony and my nails make everything worse.  Since I'm too lazy to actually cut them, I just let them grow out until I break them, by chewing them off due to nerves.  This is the part of me that I hate most.  I wish I had normal hands.  Hands that don't show my green and blue veins, that covered them up fully.  I am so self-consious.  I wish I was perfect like Ethan.  Then, and only then, will we be the perfect match for each other.

No matter what people say, or how many times they say it, I know Ethan Nigma and I will not date, unless of course I am his "only exception", because of a few personal problems that I dare not to address to anyone but himself.  And, unfortunately, I am MOST definately NOT his "only exception", although he is mine.  I promised myself that I would not date anyone unless that person is Ethan Nigma.  And I plan on keeping that promise.

Soon, my gaze lowers to places where they shouldn't and I look up, feeling the heat fill my cheeks, making them pink.  Phew, I think when I notice he didn't see my eyes slip down to the bottom of his sweater. I'm safe for now.