yourself the embarrassment you arrogant
lump heads. Have you ever considered the idea that maybe, just maybe, the girl might not like you back?
Gasp. Did I hurt your feelings? Well suck it up.
Wait, no. That’s a strategy isn’t it? Put pressure on the girl to say “yes”
because if she doesn’t... Yeah, if a girl is decent, she wouldn’t want to
embarrass you in front of all those people. And, if she’s not decent, she’ll at
least be thinking about her reputation. Oh, I see right through you, you sick
bastards. That’s mean! You try to make it seem as if we’re the bad guys here,
but it’s been you all along! Cunning, manipulative bastards.
Oh, right. About the mess of chocolate.
It all started in freshman year. High school was still this exciting adventure
I wanted to document every moment of. I wasn’t exactly a camera whore like my
female peers – sometimes male – but I liked to take pictures of things.
I would take pictures of field trips. I would take pictures of each classroom I
had a class in. I would take pictures of notes… Okay, so my picture-taking
wasn’t exactly for sentimental reasons. But there were a lot of instances where
I did take pictures for sentimental reasons.
For example, in the first few months of that year, I didn’t really have
friends. I would sit alone at lunch because during class I didn’t care for
small talk with my seatmates. I read books and took notes. So, to compensate, I
would take pictures of the surrounding lunch tables and make up stories about
the people. Then, one day, a boy named Angelo noticed me taking his picture,
and he accused me of having a crush on him. We’ve been best friends ever since,
and I would take pictures of all the different pastas he brought for lunch.
But, anyway, one time while we were on a field trip, we were taking our rest
break on this beautiful hill up where you could see the beautiful plains below.
The sky was a great clear blue. Not a cloud in sight, and yet the sun seemed to
be hiding somewhere. It was a cool day. Both the grass and the leaves were such
a fantastic green colour it almost seemed unreal, but the bare shadows gave
them back their place in the real world. The view was void of any bodies of
water. It was just rolling fields as far as the eye could see. I took so many
pictures within that half hour. It was as if each photo was an attempt to
perfectly recreate the moment, of course futile, but an attempt nonetheless,
and it made me feel better.
Angelo was sick, so he couldn’t come. Since I didn’t have anyone to talk to, I
let myself be in my own world. I was perfectly satisfied falling asleep on the
bus and taking my pictures. Don Vernal had a different idea. He approached me
as I looked out onto the fields. He very silently walked beside me. He was so
quiet you would think that the sound of his voice would have made me jump. But
his voice was quiet, too.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he remarked.
“Yeah,” I nodded, smiling.
I turned to face him. Don was tall and lean, but muscular. He had dark hair and
skin that was two shades darker than fair. His eyes were dark, but kind, and
his smile was asymmetrical, but perfect. I was flustered. He was gorgeous, and
was the only one since Angelo who actually came up and talked to me without
academic motivation. If it had been anyone else, I probably wouldn’t have paid
much attention. If it had been any other day, I probably would have brushed him
off. If he’d said anything else – if he hadn’t somehow been able to echo the
exact thought that lingered in my mind – I probably would have gotten annoyed
and walked away. But he
lump heads. Have you ever considered the idea that maybe, just maybe, the girl might not like you back?
Gasp. Did I hurt your feelings? Well suck it up.
Wait, no. That’s a strategy isn’t it? Put pressure on the girl to say “yes”
because if she doesn’t... Yeah, if a girl is decent, she wouldn’t want to
embarrass you in front of all those people. And, if she’s not decent, she’ll at
least be thinking about her reputation. Oh, I see right through you, you sick
bastards. That’s mean! You try to make it seem as if we’re the bad guys here,
but it’s been you all along! Cunning, manipulative bastards.
Oh, right. About the mess of chocolate.
It all started in freshman year. High school was still this exciting adventure
I wanted to document every moment of. I wasn’t exactly a camera whore like my
female peers – sometimes male – but I liked to take pictures of things.
I would take pictures of field trips. I would take pictures of each classroom I
had a class in. I would take pictures of notes… Okay, so my picture-taking
wasn’t exactly for sentimental reasons. But there were a lot of instances where
I did take pictures for sentimental reasons.
For example, in the first few months of that year, I didn’t really have
friends. I would sit alone at lunch because during class I didn’t care for
small talk with my seatmates. I read books and took notes. So, to compensate, I
would take pictures of the surrounding lunch tables and make up stories about
the people. Then, one day, a boy named Angelo noticed me taking his picture,
and he accused me of having a crush on him. We’ve been best friends ever since,
and I would take pictures of all the different pastas he brought for lunch.
But, anyway, one time while we were on a field trip, we were taking our rest
break on this beautiful hill up where you could see the beautiful plains below.
The sky was a great clear blue. Not a cloud in sight, and yet the sun seemed to
be hiding somewhere. It was a cool day. Both the grass and the leaves were such
a fantastic green colour it almost seemed unreal, but the bare shadows gave
them back their place in the real world. The view was void of any bodies of
water. It was just rolling fields as far as the eye could see. I took so many
pictures within that half hour. It was as if each photo was an attempt to
perfectly recreate the moment, of course futile, but an attempt nonetheless,
and it made me feel better.
Angelo was sick, so he couldn’t come. Since I didn’t have anyone to talk to, I
let myself be in my own world. I was perfectly satisfied falling asleep on the
bus and taking my pictures. Don Vernal had a different idea. He approached me
as I looked out onto the fields. He very silently walked beside me. He was so
quiet you would think that the sound of his voice would have made me jump. But
his voice was quiet, too.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he remarked.
“Yeah,” I nodded, smiling.
I turned to face him. Don was tall and lean, but muscular. He had dark hair and
skin that was two shades darker than fair. His eyes were dark, but kind, and
his smile was asymmetrical, but perfect. I was flustered. He was gorgeous, and
was the only one since Angelo who actually came up and talked to me without
academic motivation. If it had been anyone else, I probably wouldn’t have paid
much attention. If it had been any other day, I probably would have brushed him
off. If he’d said anything else – if he hadn’t somehow been able to echo the
exact thought that lingered in my mind – I probably would have gotten annoyed
and walked away. But he
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