right. But when I look up from the brochure, I forget about her voice
frown as I start to pay attention to what she says. She has some kind of notes
in front of her, but she’s not reading them. I don’t think she’s saying what
she’s written on them at all. She speaks of hardship, loss, and the ability to
put everything behind through hard work. I have a hunch she’s referring to
something more than what’s happening here today. Her porcelain skin gets paler
with every word. Her eyes become glassy before long, and then she tucks a
strand of black hair behind her ear. I’m sure as hell she wiped away a tear.
to stop what is hurting her. Make that look in her eyes disappear, and make her
bite that full lower lip of hers, and run my tongue down her neck, all the way
to that sweet hollow. And then rip her shirt. Button by button. Better, even.
Rip them apart all at once and cup her breasts. Twirl my tongue around her
better than to disappear with her into an empty classroom. But I don’t think
she’s the type. Her skirt is a few inches too long for her to be that type.
differently than usual.
and walk to the front, planning to start the first thing right away. After she
shakes the parents’ hands, and hugs one of the girls who won, she stops in
front of a guy who puts his arm around her waist and kisses her.
boyfriend. It’s not like she would wait for me, the biggest fuck-up among
fuck-ups, to make her smile. She already has someone who can make her smile.
she’s not smiling. After they break from the kiss, her expression hasn’t
changed. Whatever causes her torment, the idiot she’s with has no idea how to
make it better. Someone like her should always smile. She deserves someone who
can make her smile. And this idiot is far from what she needs.