I watched him as he picked up his backpack. He had obviously been working out some. I followed his veins down to his hands. Strong hands. I wished they were around my waist. But he was a junior, and I was only a freshman. I followed his newly developed frame up to his face. His hair was slightly ruffled and he looked better than I had ever seen before. I watched him walk away.
Oh, guys in bands. How sexy is that? Benji Combs. So perfect, so funny, so in a band. Secretly, I watched every single dinky little gig they played. The only person who ever noticed me in that band was Paul. Paul was cute, but I was too interested in Benji to deal with Paul at the moment.
I was dreading that night. It was another gig. It was my big night, the night I had planned to talk to Benji. I wanted to back out of my own pact at that moment. I watched them do their little gig in the park. Only about twelve people showed up and I hid behind a tree. I hummed along with their songs forgetting about my promise to myself. The final song came. I got myself up and trudged over to where they were, trying to keep myself composed.
"Umm, hi Benji." I said
"Umm, hi Taylor." He said. He knew my name.
"You know my name?" I asked him in astonishment.
"Babe, you are in like, 3 of my classes. You are pretty noticable with your purple hair. How couldn’t I know your name?" He asked, smirking. "Also, I had to find the name out of the girl who was obsessed with me." He winked at me.
"I’m not...obsessed." I was blushing and looking at my feet.
"I’m flattered. I think it’s sweet." He said.
"Well, I feel like playing in traffic now...uh, i'll see you later." was he joking around? I didn't get it. He wasn't acting like I thought he would. I freaked out and decided he would break my heart. Either that or this was some kind of joke he was tying to pull on me. Nothing was registering in my brain.
"Actually, Taylor, could I maybe get your number?" He asked.
"I uh, well, yes." I said, forgetting everything that i had just thought. He handed me a pen and his hand. He told me to write it. It was voluntary physical contact. I wanted to die. I was short of breath and shaky while writing. I was stuttering the whole time. It was almost like he was a celebrity.
Little did I know.
