Sweet Youth

As a freshman in high school, it would obviously scare me when my teacher told me to wake up a junior guy who is asleep on the table. I cussed under my breath as I walked into the room, spotting a gray covered figure laying on the table beside a colorful acoustic guitar. His body careful moved up and down as his breaths steadied and fell in silence. I tiptoed to the front of the table, kneeling in front of the figure. Maybe if I just tapped him, he would wake up without being mad. After all, class was nearly over, and yet, he hadn't heard the bell ring, or our teacher yell as loud as she possibly could.

His body shifted a bit, and revealed black and pink streaked hair over his eyes in a messy and tired fashion. It fell in wisps over his forehead, which I could just barely see over his gray jacket.

“Excuse me?” I whispered, tapping his shoulder. He grunted, though his voice was a bit higher than expected. One more time, I thought. I tapped his shoulder again, quickly drawing my hand back in case he chose to snap at me, or something.

The body shifted again, and finally, he lifted his head and squinted as he looked around the room. He groaned, catching my gaze in the process.

“Why?” He said. I bit my bottom lip gently.

“Why what?”

“Why did you wake me up?” He murmured. His eyes opened more, and I realized how big they were, and how long his eyelashes were as they accentuated his eyelid in beauty. I knew I shouldn't have been staring at him for so long, but he had this thing around him that just... drew me to him.

“M-Mrs. Trevitt asked me to wake you up.” I said with a gentle smile, getting off my knees and wiping the dirt from them. “So sorry, but I didn't know how to wake you up.”

The boy sat up, pulling his jacket down past his hips and tugging on the rings of his jeans. His hair fell in greasy, black wisps that actually looked decent in the shining light of the room. Small beads were laced through a single lock of hair at the right of his face. The pink hair was only a few short pieces, like he had tried dying it black over the pink.

“You should snap a picture.” He said. “It'll last longer.”

“Oh, sorry.” I caught myself, my face turning red from embarrassment. I hated it when people pointed out how strange I was. I just liked to study people, and he was definitely one I would have liked to study.

After a moment of silence between us, the boy pulled his backpack off of the ground and threw it over his shoulder. He didn't bother taking a second glance at me as he started making his way out of the room, quickly sprinting out of the room after the door had finally closed.



His name was Dorian, which is a really strange name, I'll admit. But it seemed to fit him, his strange personality, his style, his everything. His hair looked so soft, almost feather-like, and he dyed it almost every month. It was nearing Christmas time, almost winter break. What would I do with two weeks of spare time? Two weeks of not being able to look at him, of a missing piece of my life? I find it ironic that he plays such a great part in my life, and yet, he most likely never thinks of me. Does he even know my name? My class? Does he care? So many unanswered questions, and yet I didn't care. As long as I had the chance to see him at least once a day, I could be satisfied until the next day.

“Mora, why are you spacing out right now?” My friend Ian tapped my shoulder a few times before he sighed and gave up on trying to talk to me. He should have been used to it by now, but apparently he just never gives up.

I wondered where Dorian was at the moment. He hadn't walked into the lunchroom like he usually does at 1:04 during second lunch. I doubted he stayed with a teacher. They hardly ever allowed that, unless it was the art teacher. I glanced around me just to make sure he hadn't made a change in where he sat, or perhaps just a different surrounding. Maybe he was outside? No, none of his friends were out there either.

“I'll be right back, Ian.” I said, ignoring everything he had mentioned before and instead started out of the building and up the stairs. I couldn't remember his third block. Maybe it was chemistry? I can't even be sure.

The sound of commotion down the hall broke my train of thought as I turned my head to the right. A small group of people crowded around something happening just in front of the history classroom. Music blared from the speakers of Borstein's classroom, so he couldn't have heard what was going on.

“Why don't you have a girlfriend then, freak?” The yell rung out from the end of the hall, and even though I couldn't be sure, I sprinted to the crowd and spotted just a glimpse of Dorian being held at the throat by another student. I gasped, but nobody heard my over their own laughs and giggles.

“I don't need one.” He retorted. He shoved the other student off, reaching that point of the end of the fight. I thought I was too late, but nothing interesting had happened, and he didn't look very injured. Perhaps just his pride.

The crowd began to clear away, one by one, except me. He saw me again, and I could see his chest fall in a heavy sigh. He wasn't happy to see me. But maybe he was just angry in general. I'm sure of all people he could see, I'm not the worst of his worries. And I learned how to not bother him, so he should be happy with our conversation as long as he doesn't think I'm annoying in general.

“Sorry.” I said immediately. He nodded, knowing what I was talking about. He curled up next to the wall, and I took it as an invitation to sit next to him. I crossed my legs and sat down next to him, pulling my knees to my chest, almost the same as he did.

“Are you okay?”

“Never been better.” He said quietly. He rubbed his head, smacking it against the wall just once. It thumped, and echoed down the halls slightly with Borstein's music, the Nirvana chords for Smells Like Teen Spirit echoing down the halls. “Have you ever wondered why you can't have the good life?” He asked, glancing at me and sighing. “Our life is never really good enough, right?”

I was shocked at his sudden open nature, the way he just stared at me. My cheeks were hot from the unexpected openness from him, but I quickly answered to keep his attention. This was the first time he had ever really given my presence any thought. I wonder what made him notice me today.

“U-uh, yes I have. Every day.”

“And you want something you can't ever really have?”

I shook my head, and he blinked interestingly at me, urging me to keep talking.

“I don't believe people can't have things rather than we just trick ourselves into thinking we can't based on right and wrong.” I explained. “Like, I can have a million dollars. But I would probably have to steal, rob someone, sell things illegally, or somehow create this huge situation that will most likely never happen for me to get the money. Doing all of those things are illegal, so I tell myself, I can't.”

Dorian rubbed his forehead. “So you're saying that I could actually get a girlfriend without having to tell her who I am?”

Why wouldn't a girl like to know you're perfect?

“But I'm holding myself back.”

No, you're just not talking to me enough. I thought all this mentally, but the entire time I was telling him what I thought he wanted to hear. Yes, no, sure, sorry, it's okay. Sometimes it isn't okay.

“Y'know, I've gotten so used to this 'can't' idea that I'm just accepting it.” He continued. “All the girls will hug the people around here, but they don't even look at me twice. I a-act like I don't care—“ He sniffled and wiped his eye. “I act like I don't care, but it hurts.”

I listened carefully, expecting him to go on, but that was it. The silence this time was acceptable, I enjoyed it more than before. We could have sat there for years more of silence, and I would have love it, just because I love when he even acknowledges me. Today was the first time ever since he was sleeping.

“I look at you twice.” I admitted. He laughed, shaking his head as though I was lying. I reached my hand over and grazed his knuckles with my black fingernails.

He stood up, reaching his hand out to me and hoisting me off of the ground. His hands were unbelievably soft, and smooth to the touch. I looked into his black lined eyes, his long eyelashes, his creamy skin, and watched as the smile on his face turned to a sad and depressed expression, with a fake smile still on his face. I wondered what he was going to tell me. It couldn't be that bad. He was so perfect to me, I doubt he could actually do wrong. And then he said:

“Why would a girl like you ever look twice at a girl like me?”