Social Niceties.

Oh, I wish it was socially acceptable to stare. Shamelessly. Relentlessly. Hopelessly. Continuously. That’s what is spinning in my mind as I try to stare at him, without making it evident. But, I can’t help myself. The minute he enters the room, the suddenly gloomy atmosphere charges up, birds chirp, wind blows, flowers blossom, joy springing in our school cafe, and he blissfully unaware of the some bashful glances and the not-so-bashful stares he was attracting. I was one in the middle. The one who was speculatively glancing and slyly staring.

He was literally the most perfect man I’d ever seen. Beautiful, observant eyes, easy, haughty jaw, silky hair, great, tall, athletic body. I am swooning both in and out. My mind is picturing teenager-y scenarios- we get married, have kids, two girls and a boy, named Holly, Keira and Jack. Live in a four bedroom beach house, have a great, lovely life. He, on the other hand, is walking in a easy manner, carelessly passing his hand through his hair, and throwing flirtatious smiles at those who were brave enough to battle their eyelids at him. I tense when he starts making his way towards me. And… walks right past me, joining the pretty long (and not to mention lucky) line for lunch.

I nudge Abby, my best friend, and quite fortunately, the school student tutor. “Hey, who’s Mr. Hottie?”

“That’s Dylan. Joined recently from Sydney Academy, San Francisco. He’s here for an exchange program. And as I know you, my lucky friend, are, like most of the girls here, lusting after him,” she winked conspiring, “Please do the honors to show him around here.”

I grab my bad, hugging her tightly at the same time. “You’re the best, girlie!”

I make my way towards him, my heart thumping loudly, all the while hoping I don’t fart, burp, let my stomach make growling sounds, trip while walking or the worst, faint under the affect of those magical blue, piercing eyes.

I’m almost a few steps away, when I see something that immediately makes me want to take a U-turn. Hottie has stuck his finger in his nose, and is busy.. picking it’s contents. Examining them. Playing with them. Turning them round in his fingers, making shapes. He isn’t shy from giving it a very careful search, poking around the corners tugging at the edges. Letting it fall on the ground. And then he proceeds to the next. The same careful evaluation. Gross!

As I carefully, with a sudden annoyed anger, make me way back to my seat, where I see Abby in tears of laughter, all that comes to my mind it: Staring is so much better.

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