Middle School Me

"Andromeda?" Mr. H says. Everyone around me is sniggering.
"Yes?"
"Why are you drooling on your desk?" By now, every girl is practically howling with laughter, and the boys are laughing and pointing. This is the most embarassing question ANYONE could be asked. Besides why are you wailing your eyes out like a three year old...that ones really embarassing...
"I dunno." I respond. Of all things, I chose "I dunno." Real smooth, Andromeda. Real smooth.
Of course, I actually do know why. The boy in front of me (the only kid who isn't laughing) has some sort of addictive spell on him because I CANT STOP LOOKING AT HIM.
Boys have never looked at me before. In that way. If they do, it's because they're laughing at me. If they don', it's because they're disgusted by me. I've gotten that reaction a lot. But right now, the boy in front of me turns around. He smiles.
"You have pretty eyes." He says. I think I blush.
"You have hool cair. I mean cair hool. No, cool cair." Suddenly I can't speak. Everything I want to say just jumbles up inside me.
"Well, I work really hard on my cair to make it pretty hool." He says, and winks. I know he's just being friendly. But something inside me doesn't want him to JUST be friendly.
Everyone is looking at the board again, where Mr. H is explaining some kind of confusing algebra I don't care the tiniest bit for. But now, my eyes are locked on the back of the boys head, watching his every move. How he's constantly straightening his lush red hair and flipping his bangs. The girls around me stare at him, too, and their eyes watch his chest and muscles. I can't see them, but his hool cair works for me.