so over it

Now that “come hither” rock star is out of the picture, I think more of the guy before him. I’d love to tell you his name but I’d rather not but he is the one I wrote a poem about, an ode to artist boy? Yeah that’s him, artist boy. Artist boy was probably the third boy that I found attractive that liked me. He was so handsome in that artist type way. I loved going to my history class every other day because I would see him and he would do all these things just to get my attention. At first, I thought he was looking at someone else (which is usually the case) but after looking around me one day seeing that I was surrounded by guys, I thought in a teeny tiny way that he was possibly looking at me. Stuff started to happen that could not be explained, I would sit in my seat and he would immediately sit in the next row looking at me. As the professor lectured, He would make faces or try to wave at me, tried to tap his shoe on my desk, anything to get my attention while I stupidly listened to the professor jotting down notes. Another sign that seemed to make my suspicions more concrete was when he sat where he always did in the next row and as the whole class turned to look what someone was saying in the back of the classroom, a guy in the back of me looked at me and then at artist boy. What that guy must have been thinking: ‘are they an item?’ which sort of proved that artist boy was looking at me the whole time and not some other chick. Now every time I went to class I had to deal with nervousness and blushing, I was so scared of what he might do, he was bold in doing all those things to get my attention what might come next?
Well the last bold thing that I remember he did was when he sat next to me. The girl that usually sat next to me was a bit uptight that there was a backpack on her seat. She sat elsewhere and artist boy sat next to me. I was fidgety and scared. He took out this black box in which his drawing pencils were stored. He would draw as we waited for the professor to arrive. I would write incoherent things in my planner, making myself busy. From then on, he would always sit next to me, drawing something on his artist’s notebook. One time I was doodling something on my notebook and I secretly looked at him and he was trying to see what I was drawing. Another time as I was studying for my Art Exam, I couldn’t let him distract me but I saw him trying to look at my study guide full of artistic pictures. I was an idiot not having the ability to look him in the eye or saying hi, and I guess he thought I was a snob or something because he stopped coming to class. He came one day and I felt like I would see him for the last time so I stupidly asked for some gum, he said no and I said okay I think. He didn’t show up at all after that.
Gone were the times when I would leave class, and he would quietly observe me, gone were the times He tapped his pen when I tapped it, and gone were the times when he would look at me when I laughed in class and when I would look at him when he defended jon stewart and the hybrid car.
After that ,class was a bore; an imitator or stalker of sorts tried to impress me with stupid facts and I yearned for artist boy to come back and protect me from that loser. Then one day, He came to see the teacher. He looked so different, he looked like a cute beatnik with his scruffy beard and I now he saw me but I couldn’t see him. He wrote something in the desk in front of me, probably to get me to notice him and remember. I did remember but I just couldn’t see him in the eye or smile at him. I know he probably thought I was a snobby bitch, but I deserve it.