Stalker

He wasn’t the handsomest boy in twelfth grade, but his smile set my nerve endings a-tingle. I followed him everywhere, but whenever I tried to say hi, I’d choke. He’d continue down the hallway, greeting his cool friends with casual backslaps and bro hugs.

Once, when I was bent double, gagging on my distress, he stood and paused until I recovered. I unfurled, rubbing my under-eyes in case flaking mascara had turned me Goth.

I drew a shaky breath. “Hi.”

“Quit stalking me.” Unblinking stare. Zero warmth.

He walked away. I waited until he rounded the corner.

Then I followed.