I know you, but you don’t seem to know I exist. I take into consideration everything about you; the interesting way your chocolate brown hair goes into a little curlicue on your forehead, the way your sparkly green eyes have just a little tinge of gold around the outside, and the dimples in your cheeks. I know your favorite color, what you like to read, eat, do. If I knew your address I would probably be outside your window every night, watching you sleep. But alas, you have not said more to me than, “He kid, watch where you’re going!” whenever I space out and accidentally bump into you in the hallways at school. You never seem to take into consideration the fact that we’re in the same grade, and that you sit two rows to the left and one seat ahead of me in English class, but you seem to call everyone you don’t know “kid”. It hurts me, to know that after all the time we spent together in English you never even bothered to learn my name.

At exactly noon, right before lunch, I make up my mind. I am going to talk to you. It sets my heart a-flutter just picturing the perfect moment. I would tell you my name was Karen, and you would look at me with those pretty green eyes and say, “I know.” You had known it all along. And then you would introduce yourself, but of course I already know your name is Mike, and I would say so.

I walk down the hall toward the cafeteria, my sneakers making no noise on the linoleum floor, but my heart thumping loud enough to hear, keeping rhythm with my quick, nervous steps. I look around the corner and my heart stops. There you are, leaning against the wall at the entrance to the café as if you had been waiting just for me, hands in your pockets and that silly reckless grin of yours plastered on your face.

I am standing by the door, mustering up enough just enough courage to say “Hi, I’m Karen,” and praying my strength would not desert me once we got past “hello”. I look across the commons. Tiffany Dumont is strutting toward the café, her high heels clacking on the hard floor, and her midriff peeking out from her pick tube-top. Just like a regular lady of the evening, I thought.

When you see her, your grin seems to grow wider, but I don’t notice. You kiss her, and I hide behind the frosted glass cafeteria doors, all my hope shattered. How could I have thought that I could measure up to someone like her. Well, no one’s gonna want to buy the whole ice-cream truck if you’re giving out the popsicles for free sweetie, I thought, just a bit snidely.