She loved him. She loved him so, so much. She loved him like she had never loved anybody before. But he did not love her. He ignored her. He avoided her. He never talked to her. She tried to get near him, tried to communicate, but most of the time she was too shy. And when she did, she couldn’t talk. Her mouth would dry out and her throat would close; hot tears would well up in her eyes and she would run. She was not confident, and she would never be able to tell him how she felt. He was popular, popular and mean. She was not sure why she liked him, but she knew she did. The intensity of her love made her whole body ache when he was near her. She hoped for anything from him; a glance, a smile. If he spoke to her it would be a miracle. His dark chocolate eyes glared from under his espresso- colored wispy bangs, so mysterious, as though maybe he wanted her as well…

--

He loved her. He loved her so much. Why didn’t she ever want to speak to him? He was obviously too shy. He would try to avoid her. He was afraid that if he came face to face with her, he would be locked in her deep violet gaze, and blunder and gasp and make a fool of himself in front of her. He had worked hard to get into the popular crowd to try to impress her, but he was now starting to think that maybe she thought he was a snob. She would come to him at lunch, (every other time he would prefer to sit with his popular friends, but he insisted on sitting alone at lunch, even though they didn’t know it was because he was filling up his notebook with drawings of her.) and she would open up her mouth as if too speak; his heart would thud in his chest and butterflies would fill his stomach in excitement, although all he could do was glare at her. And then her eyes would well up with tears; she would look at him as though she was incredibly ashamed of him, as though she despised him, and she would bolt out of the cafeteria. Everyone made fun of her, the emotional geeky girl with the huge purple eyes. They would call her a freak; she was a total outcast. But he loved her. When people started to talk about her he would simply stand up and leave, and eventually his friends learned to not bring her up. How he loved her, although her image was odd. Ivory skin, black hair, brilliant violet eyes; and that name, that wonderful name; Raven. He would repeat that name to himself at night, like a lullaby to gently sing him to sleep. She would wear clothes that almost made her blend into the walls. She obviously did not want to be noticed, and she succeeded. She would wear baggy sweaters and ripped up jeans, and converse high tops. Always converse high tops. And never any makeup. That’s what he loved about her. She didn’t make herself look trashy by covering up her beautiful eyes with eyeliner and mascara like other girls did. In fact, she was a bit of a tomboy. She was always so beautiful, she would tuck her long flowing black hair behind her ears, and her beautiful eyes lit up a room wherever she was. But he would never talk to her. David knew that Raven would never love him.

--

She was drawing a picture of him. She loved to draw, especially of him. That’s when it happened. A shadow covered her light. It was study hall and the teacher was gone, so of course no studying was going on. People were yelling and screaming, throwing paper balls in the air, popular girls flirting with boys, throwing there beautiful heads back with blonde hair as they laughed, there perfect blue eyes shining. Raven wouldn’t know what that was like. Her hair shone, but unnaturally because it was black. And how many times had she wished she had gleaming blue eyes. But no, she had odd violet eyes; weird eyes that people refused to look into but had no trouble teasing her about. “Cowards.” She thought. She wouldn’t say it, but she would scare them away by glaring at them with her fierce purple eyes. But anyway, as the shadow did not move, she looked up annoyed to see who was blocking her light. It was him. She didn’t know what to do, what to say. She simply sat there; mouth glued shut, eyes wide as he glared down at her. She could feel the tears coming on, hot and salty. But there was nothing she could do. Why was he there? Was he going to talk to her? She was slowly sinking in her chair, and in her mind out of the universe. She wanted to run, run anywhere. Somewhere faraway where no one knew her, and no one existed but her.

“Um…” the gorgeous boy David muttered.

Her heart pounded. What should she say? Beads of sweat glistened on her forehead. Someone tapped on David’s shoulder and he turned around. That was her shot. She grabbed her backpack and bolted from the seat. She ran out of the classroom and into the hallway. She could feel angry eyes piercing holes in her flesh. Their glares stung, but she continued to run. She ran and ran and ran; out of the west wing and toward the abandoned bathroom in the east wing (there was nothing wrong with it, nobody used it simply because it was so far away from any classroom and the lockers) she ran into a stall and locked the door behind her. And then she cried. She cried like she always did when she saw David, she let out all the sadness of her thinking that he hated her, all the frustration towards herself for being so stupid, and all the pain from the glares that he always gave her. She cried and cried, because she knew she could. No one would ever come. And even if they did, they wouldn’t care. Because that was just it, no one ever cared about Raven Bladson.

--

David thought about it, and then made his decision. He was going to do it. He was going to talk to Raven, or at least he was going to try. He took a deep breath and walked up to her. She looked so beautiful and serene, sitting by herself drawing, her long black hair framing her beautiful, long face. He stood in front of her for a minute, she unaware, until she looked up, startled, with the same scared look she always had around him. He couldn’t help glaring at her again, but he did manage to choke out the word, ‘um…’ until someone tapped him on the shoulder.
He spun around angrily.

“WHAT?” he spat.

It turned out to be his friend John.

“Jeze man! Sor-ry! I was just gonna ask if you could be the goalie. We’re playin’ paper soccer and…” John started.

“No. Not now dude.” David interrupted.

“Damit.” He thought as he watched Raven bolt out the classroom door. There was no point in chasing her. What would he say? He couldn’t even choke out a simple hello…

That night he dreamt of her. He dreamt of running his fingers through her long black hair, gazing into her sparkling violet eyes, and he could talk; he told her how much he loved her and she replied with her love for him, in that soft beautiful voice that he only heard in class when she would talk to the teachers meekly about assignments. Why couldn’t he just talk to her? Maybe she liked him too? There was no way to find out unless he got a chance to have a conversation with her. But how could he talk to her-she was like a stray kitten; one little thing to upset her or scare her and she’d run, but if he gently coaxed her and loved her, maybe, just maybe, she’d be his.

--

When Raven walked into school that day, she took the long way around the school to her locker to avoid David. Not that it mattered, he never noticed her. But he did; yesterday. Why had she run away? She had one chance to talk with her true love and she ran away, melted under pressure like she always did. She hoped and hoped all day that maybe he would be standing there again, waiting for her, and then she quickly took back the wishes, remembering her fear and embarrassment from the previous day. She had never felt such a bittersweet feeling before. She used to be completely and totally in love and afraid to talk to him. But now she felt almost-confident? Was it possible? She still couldn’t talk to him, but maybe this time she could come up to him, and they could stand in bittersweet silence, enjoying each other’s company. No, no. That was a pipe dream. But maybe, just maybe, she could come up to him.


To be continued…