Smitten.

It was as if I'd never seen beauty until this moment. Image that, seeing the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen on the first day of my freshman year. I stand at my locker, number 223, admiring her from afar.

She's considerably shorter than I am, but I prefer my girls THAT way. I'm tall - not an awkward, too-tall kind of tall - but the right kind of tall, y'know? I'm about 5'8" and from this distance, I'd say she's about 5'2". Is that creeperish?

I was snapped out of my own little world by the bell to first block. I grab my books for geometry and head upstairs. I arrive in this sorry place for a classroom and steal a desk in the back corner. The only entertaining things in this room are the drawings some juveniles decided to carve into the desk's wooden surface just because they couldn't find anything better to do.

I don't guess I blame them considering all these posters are gag-worth pictures of tessellations and math equations. Yum. More math to choke down. I look out the window beside me. How desperate am I to be on the outside, basking in the warm summer sun? Very. I would much rather be out there than stuck inside this education prison for seven hours.

Right about the time that thought crossed my mind, an angelic voice filled the dingy room. Just her presence seemed to brighten the place. And who does she award with a seat next to her? Me. I watch how graciously she takes a seat, scooping her floral sundress under her legs before sitting. Her dark, wavy hair fell perfectly around her face. I admire her pale complexion.

As soon as she situates herself, she flashes a warm smile in my direction. Her teeth were perfect; straight and pearl white. I return her smile and sadden as her attention is diverted. Thought I'm not quite sure what, there's something extraordinary about this GIRL.

I straight up in my seat as Mr. Shasta begins calling roll. He takes his position at the front of the room at his podium. The droning monotone of this voice just adds on to the monotonous atmosphere of the room.

Reese Connor? It hits me how much he sounds like the teacher from Ferris Bueller's Day Off.

Here.

He continues down the list as I gaze off at a poster with different types of polygons on it.

Felicity Corina?

Here! Her angelic voice replies.

Felicity. What a beautiful name, fit for this girl. I suppose she notices me staring because she offers me her perfectly manicured hand and another smile.

Hi, I'm Felicity.

I return with a greeting and my name. After a moment I realize I still haven't let go of her hand. I withdraw my hand quickly and look away, blushing like mad. It was unintentional, but her hands are so soft in comparison to mine. I'm guessing she senses my shame because she flashes another smile that tells me it's okay. She'll probably never talk to me again.

WILL she? Doubt it. I barely know her anyways, so I shouldn't care. Strangely though, I do. What's wrong with me? I've known her for less than two hours and I'm already feeling this way. I just can't gauge what it is. A crush? Love? Ha. Yeah. Like I even know what that is. I've never known it, so how could I feel it? I don't. Dad split when I was twelve and Mom's now married to her bottles. Too bad they'll never get divorced.

I feel that soft skin against the palm of my hand, accompanied by a slip of paper. Though I shoot a questioning look in her direction, she tells me nothing. I wait for her to turn away before discreetly unfolding the paper. Inside is a ten digit number with her name scrawled across the top in cursive. She's the type to dot her i's with little hearts. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I will BE talking to her again.

The bell rings to go to second block. Too bad I didn't hear a word Mr. Shasta said. Too focused on THE blue eyed beauty seated next to me.

---

The day drags by. Slow. Like Molasses. But that's how my entire life is. Geography is definitely my favorite class so far but that's only because of the teacher. A football coach. Loud. Doesn't really give a crap what we do as far as I can see. And that's perfectly fine by me.

He gives us a twenty minute speech to explain the basic rules of his classroom and then let's us talk. I scan the room, observing the diversity. One girl is crying over the DEATH of her grandfather. I can overhear her telling the story through uncontrollable sobs. A part of me feels for her.

I hate to see people hurt.

Another part of me feels for me.

I wish I knew my grandfather.

When my dad split, that threw any chance of knowing my grandparents out the window.  Mom's dad died a year before I was born and her mother took off like my dad. All my other family was alienated when Mom joined her bottles in unholy matrimony. Only reason for that is because of the unexpected estrangement of my father.

The past three years OF my life have been an up and down roller coaster. I'm used to it by now. Mom's normally bombed by the time I get home, passed out on the couch in the living room. I'm not sure she even notices I'm there. Just the way I like it. At least one half of me. The other half misses the loving mother I had three years ago. She used to always look nice, used to always shower me with love. She'd read me bedtime stories, help me with my homework, sing to me if I couldn't sleep. Now the only song she sings is the repulsive tune of too much alcohol to the toilet bowl. One I hear often. All I want is for her to love ME.