R O L L E R C O A S T E R 

I should have been paying attention in class. The lesson was likely to appear in tomorrow's test, after all; but I was too busy staring at him. There's nothing interesting on the back of his head or the back of his gray shirt--it's because it's him that I keep on looking.

Turn around, I'd think. Turn around, just one glance.

I wanted our eyes to meet, needed it to happen a little bit; but, if they did, I'm afraid that he'd see exactly how I feel for him: this odd mixture of happiness and lonliness, this confusing swirl of yearning, the desire to push him away, and the need to hold him close. He'd see all of it, I'm sure. Then he'd look away, I'm even more sure. I'll guess that he just doesn't feel the way I do. (But I can't help but wish he did.)

And, sure enough, I see him glance and laugh with someone else, making my chest hurt just a tiny (big) bit. He doesn't know how much I want that laugh of his to just be mine. He doesn't know how much it gets to me, the way that his eyes would crinkle and the way his already goofy smile turns even more goofy. I'm always jealous of whoever makes him laugh and I wish he'd laugh freely with me too.

But I'm stuck here, staring, wishing, heart b with lonliness and happiness--and, as much as I don't want to, I like him too much and I can feel myself falling, falling, falling.

.

.

Turn around.

.

.

Just a tiny bit.

.

.

And he does.

Our eyes meet.

He smiles, his face lighting up with that slow curve of his lips..

And I knew I was already in love.

.

.

(But what did it mean when he didn't look away?)