I’m in love. She sits two seats to my left in the next row up. She’s a sophomore, and I’m a junior. Her name is Jasmine. Always on Mondays she comes to math class, her strawberry blond hair a magnificent backdrop to a single braid; each week dyed a different color. This week: lavender.
Mrs. Porter catches me staring at her one day when I had taken LSD before homeroom. She asks me something about the shortest distance between two points. Everyone turns as she takes a piece of chalk and extends her arm in my direction. I turn to the Indian boy next to me and spend several seconds admiring his tattoo. When I snap out of it, Mrs. Porter has continued teaching class, and I wonder if all that had really happened.
I’m in love. Every Monday she comes to math class, her strawberry blond hair a tenuous backdrop to a single braid. This week: dark, dark brown. She wears black lipstick and vinyl. I stay after school for tutoring. Then, I see her outside walking up the left side of the U, two or three cars sitting with impatient mothers. She walks toward Main Street listening to Sonic Youth and eating bite-sized pretzels. I walk up to her and ask her if she wants to go out with me. I ask her again because she doesn’t hear me through her headphones. When she notices me, she pulls the headphones down around her neck and offers me a pretzel. I refuse because of my retainer.
-By Joseph Cooper, of Little Murders.