The next two weeks were a blur. He was absent a few days, which made me sad, but it also gave me time to clear my head. I aced three tests and two papers, securing a 4.0 for the final semester of my life as a high schooler.
But it felt like the end of a long race in which I was a full lap ahead. There was no satisfying battle for the finish. It made me uneasy. Things should not be this smooth; this was too good to be true. I was looking for a complication.
Chem labs were over, and though he returned to class, I could not spin sarcastic webs of words laced with flirtacious undertones. He sat one row behind me. I felt his eyes boring into the back of my head for the entire class, though I dare not turn around.
My prom dress hung on the back of my bedroom door. It was worthy of turning a few heads, but all I could think about was the one head I wanted to turn. I imagined his jaw dropping, his slow steps heading right toward me, ignoring whomever he was just talking to.
Who am I kidding?