I like you, I think.
The strands of your hair remind me of curlicues, and the first thing I want to do when I see you is card my fingers through them. Your eyes are green like the apples I always see in the supermarket. When we first talk, which happens on the forty-fourth day of our junior year during eighth period at approximately 1:46 in the afternoon, you give me your name and then apologize because you have a tendency to speak slowly.
So I tell you it's okay, that my name is Niall and I tell really bad jokes. You laugh at that, and when I tell you one of my classics, you laugh even more.
We're partners for an English project and we're supposed to be analyzing Hamlet, but we spend more time analyzing my jokes.
At the end of the period, we have absolutely no work done, and usually I would be more worried, but usually I'm also not preoccupied with the way someone's laugh sounds.
I decide that it's a good day.
.
I think I like you.
Your eyes are the friendliest I've ever seen as they find mine, all the way across the lunchroom. "Niall, Niall!" you're shouting, waving over to your table.
You already have other friends, three boys whose names I quickly come to learn: Louis with eyes like blue cotton candy, Zayn and his eyes reminiscent of hazelnuts, and Liam's whose eyes are the color of chocolate.
You introduce, "This is Niall, my English partner," and that gets me a little bit, because I wonder if that means this is a temporary thing.
A week later, we give our English presentations; the day after that, I buy my lunch, pause by the ketchup station, then start walking towards my table in the back.
Halfway there, your hand comes down on my shoulder. "Where are you going?" you ask, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. It's a really endearing look on you. "The lads are throwing us a party for passing our presentation."
And looking back at the table, I see that Zayn, Liam, and Louis have brought various confections, including cupcakes and cookies.
"That wasn't a temporary thing?" I ask, maybe a little dumbly.
"What wasn't a temporary thing?" You tilt your head.
I don't completely believe you, but a table with you and Liam and Louis and Zayn looks far more inviting than my one in the corner.
So I come with you. It turns out that there is an uneven number of cookies. I'm about to say you can have it when you break it in half and offer me a piece.
"Thanks," I say.
"You're quite welcome," you return with a smile. My head spins.
.
I think I like you.
The front of my binder is covered with pictures of the constellations. "Did you make that yourself?" you want to know.
We're sitting on the grass together, waiting for your mother to come pick you up.
"Um, yeah," I say, because it's a little embarrassing. I move my arms over it in hopes that you'll lose interest.
"No, don't hide it." You do the exact opposite and pull it away from me. "S'nice. Do you like the stars?"
I love the stars. When things get particularly bad, I like to look at them and imagine I'm there, millions and millions of miles away. But I was once told that stars are for children and that I needed to grow up sooner or later. I don't want to hear those things from you.
