Not Exactly St. Vitus' Dance

Tempting though it was I could not bring myself to look at him again for the remainder of what felt like a very long lunch. Amber prattled on, but I didn’t hear. The assorted hoots and howls of a high school cafeteria resounded and echoed off tile and table, but I took no heed.

My head was lost in labyrinths of fantasy I could barely acknowledge, which is why I nearly ran into someone as I went to toss my trash. Looking up, my eyes met his, orbs containing endless depths of misery and ecstacy.

Stomach seized. Eyes went blurry. Tongue felt swollen in a mouth suddenly devoid of saliva.

I moved to go left as he moved to go right. He corrected back left as I tried the right. Urg, the dance! wailed my subconscious critic, alarmingly present and conscious.

Without missing a beat he shot a wicked Prince Charming grin, “Here, allow me.” Before I could utter someting witty or embarrassing he’d palmed by brown paper sack and tossed it over his shoulder. With that, he was gone, though my blush remained.

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