I’m shy. Okay, well, not shy when it comes to the simple question, “Do you want to come back to my room with me?” at midnight on Hoxsey, but when it comes to real intimacy with somebody I genuinely like, it’s a struggle. I love my best friend because she, whether I want to or not, will always push me towards embracing the inner emotional turmoil that a person can experience with a crush.
I have a crush. He’s my tutorial partner. His broad shoulders and goofy attitude rope me in, and his papers aren’t terrible either. I saw him in the library, working, and I immediately hid in the stacks, pulling my girlfriend back with me.
“What is it? Who is it? Is it the guy from last night?” she whispered.
It wasn’t the guy from last night– it was my tutorial partner, his head in the books. Wow, I’m a slut. I told her who I had seen, and my bestie, being bestie, smiled and walked over to him, going, “Hi, I’m [REDACTED]. You’re [REDACTED], right?”
She put her things down opposite [REDACTED], and bantered with him for a moment. Well, I guess I’ll sit next to her… across from him. How intimate. She’s sitting somewhere else now, and it’s just me and him. I don’t know if he’s stealing glances at me, but I am at him. I like his eyes. I like his dumb grin.
13:28– What’sApp notification from my best friend, “You’re so nervous”
On small flames at Williams: we’re here for only four years. We gather here from all over the United States and it’s impractical to expect anything lasting. But it’s cold. I need little flames. The snow falls outside Sawyer. He’s still sitting across from me.