That Ugly Boy.

Layla had thought nothing of him. A complete loser really. Long greasy hair that tumbled down his shoulders. Grimy, dirty hands. A crooked nose, most likely from a stupid gang fight behind the grocery store. Steel toed boots adorned his feet and he wore the dumbest band t-shirts Layla had ever seen. Really a complete reject in all aspects of the word.

But still.

Layla still couldn't tear her eyes away. Couldn't help but hope he would accidentally brush her hand or bump her in the hall. Just to touch her. Just once.

He sometimes smiled. While reading a book, while watching birds out the window in math class. He's teeth a slight yellow. A missing tooth. Disgusting, really. Then why, why, did Layla want to run up to him, wrap her arms around him and kiss him? Oh, just kiss him. Kiss him till her lips were swollen. Till she was blue in the face.

She was repulsed by her feelings. Absolutely despised herself for feeling this way. Despised him for not noticing her and most of all despised the way other girls, in much lower ranks then her of course, would crowd him. Practically begging him to fuck them.

Sluts, she would whisper under her breath.

Oh but wouldn't she love to be the one he undressed at night. Who he would slip next to in bed. Who he would caress against his scrappy body. Oh, what a body. What a body.
She shook her head fiercely. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it.

"Are you all right Layla?" Her English teacher would ask.
"Fine."
Of course she wasn't.
She wasn't.
She wasn't.

In the dead of night she would think of him. His swaying hair as he walked by. The smell of simple soap and beer. His eyes. Plain and dark. Think of his hands, those big hands, holding and exploring her. His sensuous lips kissing her in places she dare not name.

That fucking asshole, she would think. Look at what your doing to me. I am a mess. And it's your fault. It' all your fault. Of course, he didn't know. He paid no attention to her. Never even glanced at her. Not once.

He suddenly showed up in her french class. All the girls turned to gaze, the boys turned to laugh and snicker and deliver stupid emo jokes under they're breath. He sat two seats away from her in the third aisle. She dared not look at him. Paid him no mind. But she knew his every move. Whenever he scratch his dirty head, yawned, sneezed, anything. She felt his every move. As if they were one person. Moving together. Only that he didn't know she existed. Knew nothing about her. Yet he was the fucking center of her universe. The center of everything.

Fuck, she said. Hands trembling. Knees knocking together.
Fuck. She began to feel dizzy. Her throat became dry.

I'm in love.