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because there’s a new guy,
sitting across from my regular
seat. He’s not like model pretty
or anything, but he is extremely
cute in a boy-next-door sort
of way, with sun-streaked hair
and dark eyes and cheeks that
dimple when he smiles. Smiles.
At me. My face goes hot as I slide
into my chair, wishing I had the slightest
clue how to flirt. I don’t. Never tried
it. I can barely manage to smile back.
And when his grin widens at my obvious
discomfort and he whispers, Hi, I think
I might just curl up in a little ball,
roll away into a corner, and die.
IT’S NOT LIKE
I’ve never been attracted
to a guy before. I’m a normal,
healthy heterosexual girl.
Okay, not totally normal,
which is why guys aren’t exactly
fighting over me. Pretty much
everyone here knows my tale
of woe. Who wants to date a loser
who uses words like “woe,” and lives
with her grandfather because
her parents shuffle in and out
of jail, for cripes’ sake?
Aunt Cora says if I’d just carry
