He steps into the classroom with his head down, almost ashamed to be here. He walks quickly to the back to an old chemical-stained desk, but his effort doesn’t work. The jocks notice him and begin to pull puns. His head lowers with each throbbing word.

He is the smartest guy in the school and is often used as a model student in class. Each time he is mentioned, classmates turn and stare while his head lowers to its limit. He barely looks up, only to take notes from the chalk-caked board.

He looks at me and I smile. He turns his head, lowering it again, and begins to write. I wonder if it hurts him more than it hurts me. People smile and act kind, but they make fun of him. People smile at me, but I shrug it off.

I’m an outcast among the girls. I’m not a shopper or a rich girl who flaunts dim-witted talent. I sit by myself, and I’m the subject of gossip and cruelty, but I’m not as smart as him. I can’t say that I feel sorry for him for being mocked because he’s the smartest guy around. I feel sorry for the others who don’t notice his traits. He is smarter than everyone here, and he is kinder. I think his best trait is his hidden blue eyes.

His deep blue eyes are darker than the sea, and Poseidon could never possess them. No other person in the school has eyes like his. They’re always covered by his thick black hair which drifts down to his neck. I notice them every day and they haven’t ceased to enthrall me.

Class ends and he quickly leaves, his normal routine to avoid confrontation. I smile at him every day; I wonder if he notices.

Another day, another class, and with it come more words. He steps into the room with his head high. He walks slowly to the back and sits next to me. Everyone glares at his unusual behavior and takes off in conversation and gossip. I can’t help but smile as he stares at me during class.

Class ends, and gossip stirs. He stands as I stand, and I look at him with a smile. He smiles in return, which makes his eyes gleam. He leans over and whispers, “You have gorgeous green eyes.”