The Boy with John Travolta Blue Eyes

The Boy with John Travolta Blue Eyes

High school alone is the hardest part of any teenager's life, but when it gets mixed in with an awkward adolescent's idea of liking someone, life turns into a whirlwind emotional adventure. Like my plate wasn't overflowing already with a chemistry teacher who called me "Crash" (a name I acquired after dropping a beaker during our first lab), a sassy algebra teacher who said that I didn't have the aptitude for the subject, or a French teacher who flirted with the class and laughed at her own jokes. No, I complicated things even further because stupid me fell in love.

It all started one morning at my locker as I fumbled to find the French book I hadn't used in about a month. In the crowded locker bay someone stepped on my toes and, consequently, rammed me into the absolute zenith of high school popularity standing to my right. I accidentally hit Miss Popularity while she attempted to apply lipstick. In the reflection of the three mirrors that hung in her locker, I saw a red smear across her acne-free, rouged cheek. I also saw the image of the person responsible for this collision. When I turned to get a better glimpse, there he was.

Lockers may have slammed, Miss Popularity may have pouted, but everything stopped for me. All I saw was him. It felt like someone had reached down my throat and, with strong fingers, drew my breath and stomach from my trembling body. His sapphire eyes drilled deep into my heart, and every nuance of his face became eternally etched into my mind. The tall, thin body stood out like a glistening jewel among the dull coal of the locker bay. Sensing my eyes burning deep into him, he turned around and said, "Ah, sorry. My bad." The words were spoken by a voice that could talk a man down from a ledge. I could tell by the tone and inflection that he felt deep remorse in his soul for displacing my body

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