If I were in a story I would utter a melancholic sigh right now. But that’s cheesy. I’ll keep my sigh to myself for now. Sighs should be kept for special occasions, you can’t go around letting out sighs here and there on every whim. They can be so emotive, it would be a waste to use one right now.
It’s just that he never looks at me. Ugh, that sounds so pathetic. Now I’m one of the protagonists of a glitter-covered teen novel where the geek girl gets a life makeover. Except without the life makeover. Novels do awful things to your expectations. Your life doesn’t change for you, no matter how long you’ve innocently, patiently pined. It doesn’t reward you for princess behavior, sitting and waiting for your fervent wish upon a romanticized ball of energy and light. It also doesn't reward you for prudishly assuming that your life will change if you are a unique individual. And by life change I mean the addition of romance. No, things don’t just happen to you. You have to make it happen.
Easier said than done though right? There are no aftermaths in stories, you can conveniently end it whenever you want. In real life there are norms, boundaries, you can’t just do what you want. But I’ve behaved by the rules all my life. Which hasn’t been that long, but it still feels like a millennium…
So what if she cares? So what if he gasps? Heck, I’ve only got two years left with these guys and then I’m off to start my life away from here. What’s it to them? Of course, it will be fodder for the gossip troughs, but what isn’t? We all live vicariously through others’ stories, too scared to make our own. I’m sick of it all. I’m going to make my own story.
He’s only a couple desks away. Does he even know my name? I’ll bet he doesn’t. The people who make gossip for people like us never bother with our names. Well. That will change in… 3… 2… 1… MakeyourownstorymakeyourownstoryGO. Oh God he’s looking at me. Oh God those eyes. Keep walking. Make your own story. He’s smiling. Oh, wait, no, there’s the eyebrow. You can’t expect a guy to be ecstatic as a girl advances towards him aggressively. Well, I guess you could, but he doesn’t know me.
“Hey,” he says. Actually, it’s more of a “Hey,……? … ?!”
“Hey,” I say back, smirking. Wow, that was clever of me.
The class has gone quiet. I’ve just crossed over the boundary into his personal bubble. They’re all watching. Waiting for a story to warm their sad lives. Make your own story. Make your own story.
“You have great eyes,” I say, as I take his face in my hands and press my lips to his.