Every Man I Fall For

“I just don’t understand you, Cam. On what planet could A Midsummer Night’s Dream ever be considered Shakespeare’s best work?”

My friends argue loudly over theatre whilst I sit quietly, picking at my apple, brow furrowed as I form my opinion. When I clear my throat, everyone turns to me, waiting for one of my rare contributions to their discussions.

“I think it has some merit. Whilst I respectfully disagree with you on that idea, Cam, I don’t think it’s his worst either, Leila. A Midsummer Night’s Dream is quite magical. It’s captivating, and whilst it might not tackle the sort of subject matter as is in, say, King Lear, I think you have to remember that it’s not of the same genre. A Midsummer Night’s Dream is a comedy, and as a comedy, it’s actually rather clever. Not to mention hopelessly romantic.”

Everyone takes a moment to digest this, and nod, and I suddenly realize that by applying logic I’ve just disproven both of their points of view, effectively shutting down the entire conversation. I’m just so hopelessly awkward.

“I’m gonna go… pee” I announce haltingly as I scrape my chair back from the table, desperate to be anywhere but here amongst the graves of every conversation I’ve ever unintentionally murdered.

My friends nod distractedly before starting on a completely separate topic, and I walk away slowly, mind absorbed in my own humiliation. Once again, I become aware of an unsettling stare on my back and I involuntarily shudder, before glancing over my shoulder. Those green eyes are trained on me again, and when my own brown ones meet them, he stands up suddenly and begins to make his way over to me. In a blind panic, which is sometimes brought on by the prospect of human interaction, I hurry towards the doors of the canteen and have to fight myself not to break in to a run when I make it to the other side of them, boy’s bathrooms in clear sight. As I make it inside them I dart towards a cubicle, but just before I can throw myself inside he makes it inside as well, puffing slightly. I now have only a split second to decide whether I’ll continue on my trajectory or stop, and I hesitate too long, effectively ruling out the first option. The hand that was reaching out for the cubicle handle is instead brought up through my hair as I chuckle nervously, other hand on my hip.

“Hey” he pants slightly “way to make me feel welcome!”

I would have been worried, if it weren’t for his mouth, which breaks out in to his signature grin as he speaks.

“Aha, yeahh... sorry… about that” I manage, mentally patting myself on the back for forming a complete sentence.

He holds out a hand, in a sort of jokingly formal way.

“I’m Tom. With an ‘h’.”

I shake it, attempting in vain to apply the same sort of joking manner to my words and actions.

“Hi Thom with an ‘h’. I’m Oliver”

“I already knew that” He winks, and I’m momentarily taken aback.

“I already knew your name was Thom” I counter.

“But not with an ‘h’” he replies, sticking his tongue out at me with genuine excitement in his eyes.

“Touché. How did you know my name was Oliver?”

“Duh. You’re all anyone talks about in this school.”

I’m shocked, and I guess he sees it on my face, because he looks surprised.

“You didn’t know? I’m almost positive that two thirds or more of the student body are lusting over you, gender and sexuality regardless.”

I sort of knew, in the least conceited way possible, that there was some degree of admiration for me within the school, but I had no idea that people actually talked about me.

“…Oh.”

“You don’t talk much, do you?” He asks, curiosity blazing in his eyes.

“Um.. no, I guess not.”

In truth, this is the longest conversation I’ve had all day.

“Well it was nice meeting you, Oliver. I’ll let you get on with your ‘business’,” he says, gesturing towards the cubicles. “You have beautiful eyes, by the way. See you later!”

And he flounces out of the bathroom, leaving me to stare at my reflection in the mirror with a sort of rabbit-in-the-headlights expression on my face.