Voiceless Love

12. Is she your girlfriend now?

I couldn't think straight this morning. Mainly because I had a dream about Zoey. An erotic one. I don't know why I did but I did. And I woke up with a little friend of mine, tenting in my shorts. I was late for school because of it.

I know what you're thinking and the answer is no, I didn't masturbate to her. I simply looked at the playboy magazine that I keep under my bed. And after that, I was good to go. I didn't do a lot of things this morning. For one, I didn't shave my face. I was too tired. Two, I didn't have breakfast. All I could think about was how real the dream felt. It's not that I lost my appetite because of her, I'm not saying that. I just didn't feel like eating anything. And three, I didn't say good morning to my mom and because my dad was in the kitchen with her. So I would've had to see him. I didn't want a bad start to a Monday, so I just left.

When I got to class, Mrs. Brown didn't say anything or called me out. It was Monday, after all, and Mondays usually suck for everybody. So showing up late didn't concern her for today.

Zoey wasn't there yet either. I sat down at our empty desk and listened to the lecture Mrs. Brown was giving. I remembered Zoey telling me she had therapy in the mornings if I ever wondered why she was late every time. I assumed that's where she was. But that got me thinking.

She has therapy twice a day. In the morning and afternoons. Why, though?

Why would she need that much therapy in one day?

It confused me and I tried not to think about it. I crossed my arms and leaned back in my chair, glancing over at Brady and Rita who were . . . chatting?

Wait. Why are they talking? I looked away before Rita would have noticed and cleared my throat. I felt her staring my way but I didn't look back again. I wanted something else to focus on. Mrs. Brown, the clock, literally anything.

And then the classroom door clicked shut and there appeared Zoey.

Woah. But also not Zoey. At least, not normal Zoey.

Her outfit was mixed with black and dark green. She was wearing an edgy grunge outfit. She wore a high-waisted black skirt with a black, thick belt and chains hanging down. On top, she wore a forest green flannel that tucked into the belt with the wide collar draped off her shoulders, showing her bra straps.

She looked . . . hot as she walked into the room, backpack strap hanging off of one shoulder. Her heavy leather boots stomped against the floor with each step. Her hair was messy and not brushed like she didn't care. And no makeup, only a little eyeliner.

Wow. What happened to the pastel-wearing girl?

She plopped down in her chair before turning and giving me a big smile. She looked happy. She faced forward and so did I. But I couldn't help but glance over at her now and then. The class seemed longer the more I stared and I felt like the more I did, the more she would notice. Because she turned to look at me and our eyes met a few minutes later.

She waved, showing her dimples as she grinned and kept her gaze. I didn't show any emotion. I tried not to. She- . . . her outfit was something else.

It wasn't all cutesy, rainbows, and sunshine. It showed a baddie side to her. And I was diggin' it.

I'm glad she was in a good mood today. She was smiling a lot. To herself and me. But when I looked away, she didn't. She stared at me for a while. Not once looking forward when Mrs. Brown was introducing a new kind of poem to us and began to pass out paper.

When I got out my pencil, she was still staring and I was getting the courage to look back. And when I did, nothing happened. We were simply staring at each other now.