I’m staring.

It takes me a second to realize my blatantly obvious action. He sits across the room, in all his nonchalant handsomeness, and I’m staring. I blush, warmth rising in my cheeks, and I know that its obvious.

I have to keep myself in line. I have to focus on my Spanish worksheet, lying right in front of me. I have to translate. I have to concentrate. I have to.

Number one.

I’m already distracted.

Number one. Translate the phrase “Como estas” into English. Write it on the little black line. Simple. Easy. Painfully so.

How are you. There. “How…are….you,” I scrawl, my words spilling off the little black line.

“I’m fine, thanks. How are you?” He smiles dashingly. Gorgeously. Sinfully. Beautifully.

But that’s only in my head. Focus. I have to.

Number two. “Cual es su pelicula preferida?” This is a short answer question, with several black lines to fill. I wonder what he is writing on his black lines. I steal a glance. So attractive.

I’m writing “Me pelicula favorita es ‘Saving Private Ryan’”. I love war movies. I’m thinking about going to West Point, actually. That’s where my dad went. I know, it’s hard to get in….that’s why I’m taking this class. Gives you an edge, you know? Being bilingual. Anyways, what’s your favorite movie?”

This is sick. But it’s The Sixth Sense, actually. I write it down in my broken Spanish. Finally I allow myself another look.

He’s wonderful. His dark hair waves perfectly over deep chocolate brown eyes. He has a deep tan and a huge, friendly smile revealing perfectly white, even teeth. He’s tall – much taller than me – and extremely built, probably from hours spent in the weight room for football. His red polo and well-worn khaki cargo shorts fit well. I sigh. What a crush this is.

Oops. I’m staring again.

Alright. Number three. Focus. Do not think about him. Do your work. Telling myself this is the only way I will ever pass Spanish.

Number three. “Cuantos anos tiene?” Another short answer. I notice the teacher forgot some tildes and accent marks. Maybe she doesn’t care. I certainly don’t. I’ve got more important things to be dreaming about than Spanish grammar…

Focus.

Okay, this is an easy one. How old are you? I am fifteen years old. Tengo quince anos.

“I’m fifteen too. My birthday is in April. So I’m technically older than you, right?” He’s teasing now. I fake pout, and he grins.

If only it worked out so beautifully outside of my mind. I look down the long list of questions. I sigh. Its easier to look up instead, and see him check the clock…whisper to his buddy on the left…answer a problem…tie his shoe…answer a problem…stretch…and look at me.

He’s looking at me.

He is looking at me.

Right now. We are making eye contact for this millisecond.

I turn away suddenly, embarrassed.

I’m staring.