He was wearing that turquoise-blue t-shirt again. Oh, why was he wearing that turquoise-blue t-shirt? Why couldn't it have been any other unappealing color that didn't happen to perfectly compliment every aspect of his self? And for the love of God, why did it have to be a tight muscle shirt? Just because he was on the wrestling team, did that mean he had to show off his perfectly lean muscles? I swear, just when I was improving my problem, he comes back in a new t-shirt that slaps me in the face repeatedly.

You see, I have this sort of issue. Rather, it's more of an illness. A major symptom of this illness includes developing a strong and uncontrollable crush on guys I hardly now. My best friend tells me that I should find medication soon. Or heavy therapy. Apparently, I'll be in deep trouble when college comes around. “Guys will take advantage of you,” she tells me, sternly, “so bulk up and reevaluate your morals.” Easier said than done.

He sits in front of me, you see. So, I get a perfect view of the back of his head. Marvelous. He never turns around because, well, he doesn't have reason to. My friends tell me that I should initiate conversation. Again, easier said than done. What am I supposed to say? “Oh, hey, nice weather we're having, eh? What? Oh, it's raining? Oh.” No, I'm be subject to ridicule in all degrees. But I do see where they're coming from. It's not like I've never spoken to a male before. I'm don't have a phobia or anything like that. But it's not exactly the easiest thing talking to your crush. I often compare it to munching on a handful of iron nails. Yum. And, ouch.

I'm staring at the back of his head and thinking of scenarios in which I could possible spark a conversation. I contemplated “accidentally” dropping my pencil at a specific angle, causing it to roll over to his feet, and asking him to pick it up for me. I also thought of asking him about an academic question after class. Neither of which I will actually undergo with any confidence. You see, I could never perform such a complicated task without messing up completely in one way or another.

The bell rings and I let out a heavy sigh. My friend to my left glances over at me and asks what's wrong. I reply, “my life is progressively accumulating into a black hole of nothingness.” She raises an eyebrow, packs her backpack, and then leaves. I follow her with my eyes and decide to collect my belongings. In effort of doing so, I almost miss my pencil rolling off the edge of my desk. I let out another sigh and reach down to grab it. However, my hand grazes another hand. A bigger, rougher hand. His hand. My jaw drops, my heartbeat stops, and I think I actually forgot to breath for a few seconds.

“Pencil?” He says, handing it to me with a warm smile. “It rolled off your desk.”

And, because of the awkwardness that comes ever-so naturally to me, I reply with, “Pencil. Uh. Thanks.”

I grasp the pencil in my hand and by the time I look back up, he's gone. For a while, I stand there, dumbfounded. Then, I peek a glance at the pencil and without even thinking anything through, I throw my backpack over my shoulder and head out of the classroom to catch up with him.