the only one worth seeing

One

Paloma Santiago

He looked so good in that shirt.

Well, technically those two shirts.

To be specific, it was the mandated Atticus Fitzgerald navy sweater and white collared shirt, rolled up at the elbows, exposing his forearms and, with those, years of hockey practice. Yes, every guy in my Chemistry I class was wearing some variation, but he just made it...work.

Lennon always makes fun of me for this, but the veiny thing guys have on their arms makes me swoon. Luckily for me, he wasn't an exception to the rule.

Mr. Foster went on about covalent bonds, but I was barely paying attention.

He was, however, as shown by him sitting almost perfectly upright, only hunching over slightly to take notes with a scribble of his pencil and a wrinkle around his eyes.

As much as I hated (or loved?) to admit it, I had it bad.

Josh Sullivan was his name, and, as exotic as it wasn't, I still loved hearing it. He's 6'4", likes the Arizona Coyotes, and I'm pretty sure he dog-eared all of the books he read.

Those are just simple observations, I'm not a creep or anything.

Like, I've seen the A Fitz hockey players' sheets they pass out at games and stumbled upon his info. Or, I've seen him wear a Doan jersey on the days after the 'yotes big wins.

And there was one specific time while I was hanging in the library for study hall with my friend Daphne and one of her boy toys when, Mr. Fry, the school librarian, got onto Josh for a particular "vandalism" on some old copy of Fahrenheit 451 that he'd checked out a couple months before and was turning in way overdue.

Like I said, simple observations.

There was only one catch: my mega crush on him was totally forbidden.

See, he played for the Atticus Fitzgerald Knights, our school's boys hockey team. Due to past experiences and heartbreaks that were totally a result of the (lame, bogus, and totally extra) rivalry, all of the A Fitz Monarch girls have been warned: dating one of them is something you just don't do.

So I was forced to just admire from afar.

This mess started just a few months ago, at the first annual Monarchs and Knights exhibition game of our season. My interactions with him were short in the beginning—he called the bathroom a "rathboom" in front of me, he accidentally passed me the puck in the first period and I scored a goal, after the game I told him, "You deserved the win," and he replied with, "you, too" in the handshake line, just a lot of quick run-ins.

But they've gotten more and more long; like yesterday, I said hi to him before our competitive P.E. class and we talked about what to do if Perkins showed up late. He joked that we could leave early, and I laughed probably too hard, but he didn't seem to mind.

Maybe my admiration tactics haven't been as far away as they should be, but as far as I'm concerned, conversation isn't flirting! Otherwise, all of us on the team would be banished, or whatever horrible outcome happens to you when you date the enemy.

The bell rang, signaling the end of class and the end of...well, my ogling. Mr. Foster called to the gaggle of junior guys who raced each other out of the class each day, but he didn't make much of an effort.