“Write a memory when you have been tagged. Upload this picture onto your own album and see what people have to say about you!”
What do I remember about him?
The time he asked me what my name was. The first time.
And the second time, when he used me as an armrest and said Minerva, right? and I said Yes. And he patted me on my back. Three times. And walked away.
And the time I was walking past him and I brushed his arm by accident and I said sorry and he just looked at me for a long time until I turned red and looked down and walked away.
And the time he asked me how I was doing. The time I replied I’m fine, George, how are you?
And the time he asked me what time it was. It’s five thirty two, George.
And the days before he walked up to me, the days we just used to have awkward eye contact. Speaking without words.
And the day of the Homecoming Carnival, when I had to ask him if I could go. He was walking next to Dang, and I held out my hand to poke him on the back, but I got scared and just said his name. And he turned around and said that if anyone gave me any trouble, I could tell them he said I could go.
And at the assembly, when I saw him put his gray jacket on a chair and I put mine on the same chair. He picked it up and looked at it for a while. He didn’t know it was mine. When he wasn’t looking, I picked it back up and put it on and walked back to the band room so he wouldn’t know.
But can I ever tell him this? No. Not at all. If I did, I’d be as good as dead. He’d never look at me the same way ever again. Even if he did have feelings for me, he’d use me and abuse me is what my mom says. Regardless of how nice he is to me, he’s just after one thing. So I can’t tell him or he’ll see I have these feelings.
Which would not be good.
