Their body language is tense. “Honestly, I ’m not allowed to
comment on that,” the curly-haired girl announces severe-
ly. That I pick up with ease. The rest of the conversation
is between two hunched-over individuals, keen on shield-
ing their sensitive words with their small backs. It must be
about school, mumbles of university names break through
their shield. High school drama still haunts me today, so I un-
derstand. Small towns are where everyone knows everything
about everyone else through someone else’s warped perspec-
tive. If one finds that sentence difficult to understand, imag-
ine dissecting the social hierarchies of high school like these
girls are trying to do.

The long-haired girl smirks suddenly, leaning back in
her chair. Dear God, she’s the real-life Anita from West-Side
Story. She has an air of authority and confidence I flinch in-
wardly at from all the way over here. The curly-haired girl
leans inward with awe. I find myself doing the same. As the
nerdy kid in high school, I myself never experienced speaking
with the Queen Bee of the school. Now that I can see it from
a safe distance, the power is hypnotizing. Whoever says high
school doesn’t last forever has been lucky enough to escape
without trauma from the words of girls like her.
10:28AM

When he walks in, my throat suddenly tastes like
blood. If no individual so attractive has crossed one’s path
before, consider it a blessing. A coffee shop is too much of a

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cliche for these situations. And my mind is still preoccupiec
by the grizzly bear from before. With scuffed shoes and a thir
windbreaker, this boy manages to pierce the still air of the
shop with a jolt. He eases up to the counter with a humility
that makes one want to punch him in the face. Or is that jus’
me?

He steps to the pick-up counter, hands stuffed in hi:
pockets, not checking his phone. He isn’t checking his phon«
while waiting for his drink. What a psychopath. He grabs hi:
cup and walks out. I sure am glad I sat by this door and no
the one from which he left. I might have passed out. How ro
mantic! (See also: how cringe-worthy.) Just like that, a little bi
of my heart leaves with this handsome boy I’ll likely never se:
again in my life. Boy in the windbreaker who was in Seconc
Cup at this time on the 8th of March, if you're reading this,
have a crush on you. Well, at least I have a crush on the imag:
of you. How romantic! (See also: how superficial.)

Alack, my tea is cold. This bagel was a mistake. I’v:
been blabbing too much. My heart has been broken. I fin«
myself immobilized by strangers more often than not. With
out the responsibilities of emotion, idealism replaces sense
How romantic! (See also: how stupid.) My high school memo
ries have returned without an invitation. I’ve invested mysel
in the conversations of strangers. And all of this happened a
a coffee shop before 11 in the morning. What a day. People
watching is exhausting.

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