Shakespearean Tragedy | ✔️

O n e

S h a k e s p e a r e a n
T r a g e d y

      "WELL, THAT WAS awkward." My friend Mavis declared. She was right, though. It was awkward every time we passed by in the halls, stealing glances at one another like no one else can see.

We as in Dawson Everette and I.

Dawson Everette was a senior, just like I was. He had brown curly hair that I could stare at for days, reveling how luscious it always looked. I wanted nothing more than to run my hand through it. His light brown skin always managed to pierce beautifully in the sun, illuminating every single feature on his face that I loved. So many aspects to him were exquisitely beautiful in every way.

He was sitting with his group of friends at the bench that was known as 'the bench'. It was for his group in particular and if someone even thought about sitting at it, they'd have to deal with the embarrassment of being mocked by everyone in the the group.

They'd taunt them until they either lost their cool or just simply left. Most just left. Why waste their breath on friends like his? Most of them were ignorant and had no respect for anyone but themselves and their close friends–sometimes not even them.

"Yeah, it was." I told her. She didn't need my little comment to know that's how I felt though.

After many years of our strong friendship, she knew how much he meant to me in the most toxic way possible. She knew that one quick glance from him sent my heart spiraling crazily downwards into a never ending cycle. It'd go crazy, then settle, but when I'd hear him, or see his shoes as I walk by, then again it'd go off like crazy.

We casually just walked past, my throat constricting, not allowing me to swallow. I heard my breath, and when we finally passed I could finally breath. Then I gulped loudly.

"Holy, Juniper. Does he really affect you that much still?" She laughed.

I get it. It's quite funny. I'm in love with a boy who hasn't spoken to me in about two years. I've been in love with him since we were fifteen. Tenth grade was two years ago, almost three, yet my feelings haven't vanished. Surely they've dissipated, but not enough as I'd like.

We went to the cafeteria to buy food. My stomach was growling and no matter how badly they microwave their cheap cheeseburgers, I reached in and grabbed one hungrily and paid quickly. Immediately, the package was ripped open and a bite was already taken.

But then I wanted to puke.

He walked in alone, with his expensive clothing, his one diamond earring, his undeniably good looking hair and his egotistical cocky demeanor. I waited for a second to see him dig into his pocket, and accidentally pull out his hundred dollar bill instead of his five.

Knowing I was staring, I looked at the change in my hand and went for a pop, wanting to divert my attention elsewhere. I guessed that I had enough, but when I was met with the disappointing look on the lunch ladies face, I knew I was wrong.

But, he, of course, stepped in. "Here," he said aloud.

I turned around and was met with a toonie. I was over the moon with gratitude, because this pop certainly had my name on it, but I was hit with the reminder that in order to get that toonie from him, I'd have to somehow touch his hand. Sparks shot through my stomach when he placed it in my hand softly.

"Thanks." I told him. I didn't expect him to say 'you're welcome', but when he did, I was surprised.

After two years of avoiding me like the plague, and me doing the same to him as well, I never expected him to do such a thing. Although I was very happy with the way things went, I couldn't help but think that if he didn't do that, that I'd be better off. I didn't think that to sound ungrateful, but because his actions verified my feelings for him still existed and I never wanted that.

Not only that, but with one small touch, my feelings for him almost doubled. All the hard work of moving on, gone.

Damn you, Dawson.