whizkid42

Betsy's Journal
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2001-10-18 19:46:15 (UTC)

10/18/01

See, there's this guy, right? And, you know...

I hate it when I do this to myself. I am supposed to
be an empowered, independent woman! I'm almost eighteen!
I can't be going nuts about some dumb guy. And yet, I am
going nuts about some dumb guy. I have finally admitted to
myself, that, yes, I like Travis. If somehow he ends up
reading this, I don't mind.
I'm used to being a reject; the only love note I've
ever been given was from a guy who didn't mean it, and the
only time I've ever had a boyfriend he broke up with me
before our first date. So here I am, seventeen and five-
sixths, happy with my singleness until my heart threw me
yet another curveball.
It doesn't help that the other guy in AP Latin is
sitting next to his girlfriend playing footsie with her
under the table (which, in a classroom, is VERY visible,
for all you lovebirds), and it also doesn't help that
Travis is actually nice to me. It's really bad that he's
good-looking, and, worst of all, he sits RIGHT NEXT TO ME.
I have to put up with the sick paranoia of wondering if he
keeps poking me with his knees on purpose, caught between
knowing I should move and wanting to scoot closer. It's
different this time, though--I'm not obsessed with him.
I'm more afraid than I used to be, more self-conscious. I
would never dream of asking him out.
Maybe it's because he's not as good at school as I am--
his average is guaranteed to be at least a full grade lower
than mine at the end of the marking period in Latin, and
I'm two years ahead of him in math. I used to make a sport
at summer camp of playing mean practical jokes on lacrosse
jocks like him.
I believe this is the part where, in the Arabian
nights, the heroine holds forth for a half an hour on the
virtue of her true love's right eyebrow or something, but
I'm not going to do that because other people, notably my
English teacher, are going to read this and I don't think I
care to mortify myself that much. So now we're just going
to skip to the end of the story, where the heroine goes
home and does her homework and worries about her real life
for a change.


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