Seth Unseen

Part 1: Pythagoras and Other Things

Sometimes, I think the worst thing in the world is to be invisible. Other students don't look my way when I pass them in the halls, I'm not picked for group assignments or team activities—hell, even teachers have to pause for a few seconds to remember my name when they call on me. It's a solitary experience that I wouldn't wish upon anyone. Such is my luck.

For the most part, I ignore being ignored. I don't like people all that much and I'm a daydreamer, which helps me escape my suburban prison. In my classes, I sketch along the sides of my worksheets and notebook notes to pass the time. It's hard to pay attention to the lessons because of the subject matter, or the lack of personality from my teachers. I'm most guilty of this in my algebra class. Full disclosure: I don't even fully know what algebra is. I know that it's about the study of mathematical symbols ... but why?

Because of this, I don't feel guilty about drawing various faces and figures instead of paying attention to pant-suited Ms. Heaton as she goes on and on about multi-digit whole numbers. I slip into a world of story and adventure, recreating masked superheroes like I'm foretelling what I'll be reading when I get home. Maybe I should turn myself into a superhero: Seth the Unseen. It'll just be blank pages with caption boxes, thought bubbles, and word balloons—then, something feels off. It's that thing where some subconscious force pulls you out of your sphere, making you realize a shift in reality.

I look up and find my suspicions verified when I see Ken Chamberlain, a not bad-looking boy with a buzzcut, staring directly at me from his desk across from me. The desks in the room are in groups of fours, so he's essentially facing me, and once I catch him, my mind makes up reasons for his action. My first thought is that he's mocking me, which tells you the level of my self-esteem, then I think that it's by accident. Maybe he's staring at the enthralling math posters behind me, but he's not. He's staring too intently for it to be by mistake. And there's an undeniable emotion behind it not driven by ego. It's like he's appreciative.

He looks down at his notebook and his cheeks flush bright red, and I look back down at my notebook only now I'm smiling. It's nice. I'm not used to being visible to people, and once again he's not bad-looking so that helps. He looks ... cool, honestly. It sounds generic, but you wouldn't know that Ken wasn't popular just by looking at him. He'd fit right in with the TV-level jocks and the well-dressed jerks that run the school, or who are at least visible to the student body at large, but he's in fact even quieter than I am. He's monk-like mute in fact. I think I've heard him once, maybe twice, and when I imagine his voice it's just a series of low, grumbled quasi-words like a caveman.

As the week goes on, I begin to look forward to Algebra. Not because of Ms. Heaton, of course, but because of the attention that I receive from Ken. I look out of the corners of my eyes as he stares at me, admiringly. It's addictive and these aren't just glances. They're full-on I'm-watching-you-because-I-can't-take-my-eyes-off-of-you stares, and it makes me feel special for once.

To be completely honest, I'm not much to look at. This isn't to say I'm a total mess; I wear nice clothes, and I always keep my braids looking fresh, but I know I'm not one of the good-looking guys. I've got a young face, even for a sixteen-year-old, and I'm in that weird "not tall, but not short" category that's hard to place. The things I can't control don't bother me much, but this newfound attention makes me feel like I'm the hottest guy in the world. A bald-faced lie and a comforting one at that.

Friday at lunch in New England's rowdiest cafeteria, I (unsurprisingly) sit by myself and eat my mom-prepared peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Cafeteria food is the stuff of nightmares and I'd rather just starve than eat their food facsimiles. Yet again, I get that same sphere-invasive feeling that I felt in Algebra at the beginning of the week. I look up and there he is. Ken. Staring at me like a hawk from two tables over. I look back down and continue eating, then courage kicks in—maybe some frustration, but mostly courage, and I know I have to confront him.

I'm never the first one to initiate conversation. Those rare few that have become my friends have done so by forcing their way through sarcastic quips and standoffish vibes until I let my guard down enough to allow them entry into my heart. It may seem cruel, but I have a fragile heart that must be protected at all costs.

Ken looks back down again and I set my sandwich down. I can't wait anymore. Between my comic book reading and my video game playing, he has occupied my thoughts, and if he's cracked into that elite group of interests, then this deserves investigation.

I stand up and throw my backpack over my shoulder like I've been chosen for some great quest and I walk around the table. My steps are slow, as if at any moment I'll reconsider and turn back, but I've wasted too much time alone. Last year I spent my lunch period either eating in the bathroom stalls, or playing computer games in the library, and this school year was the year of change. Incremental change, but change no less.

He still has his eyes down as I sit down in front of him. I genuinely don't think he knows I'm in front of him.

"Hey," I say quickly and with a slight smile, trying to come off as nicer than I am. He probably thinks I'm nice, right?

Ken looks up and looks at me with indiscriminate eyes. Then my heart beats a mile a minute. Maybe this was a mistake ...