I Don't Need You

She sat at her desk in the far corner of the classroom, her pencil furiously scratching out a design on the smooth surface. Her anger was simply a sad attempt at disguising her sadness. She wouldn't want to appear like it had effected her too much, and she'd rather seem annoyed with life to the rest of the world than be seen as a pathetic girl who had just gotten her heart broken. By communicating that to the people around her, she would be accepting that it had happened, and she refused to believe that someone could have torn her heart out. She was strong. No guy could ever bring her down.
At least, that's what she wanted to believe.
         The teacher at the front of the room continued droning on about some subject in history that she had decided not to pay any attention to. She had more important things to think about.
Scribbling out the sharpie heart he drew with their initials, for instance.
         It upset her to realize that the pencil could only cover the permanent marker. It was just like the rip on her heart, you could bandage it, but it didn't go away: you simply covered it up.
         She sighed and dropped her pencil in frustration, watching it slowly roll down the desk before coming to a standstill near her elbow. She lifted her head for the first time in the entire thirty-five minutes that had passed. He eyes were on level with the chalkboard before they met his back, in the seat diagonally in front of her.
         Her facial features scrunched in a mix of longing and yet utter disdain. He had his head in his right hand, and was scrawling something feverously on a piece of notebook paper.
         He's taking notes, she thought, scoffing. He seemed unaffected, except for maybe the fact that he hadn't turned around to talk to her, like he usually did every day. She sighed and lowered he head onto her folded arms, closing her eyes, reveling on the night before.
         He laughed as he looked down at her from the tree branch he had hoisted himself up on. She was making several attempts to get up from different angles, but slid down every time.
         She huffed. "Zachary James Parker! Are you going to help me get up there or not?"
         He made a face, as if seriously considering the question, and then smirked. "You know, I rather like watching you try to do it."
         "Rude. That's what you are: rude, vile and despicable."
         He swung his feet. "Come on now, don't bring vocabulary into this."
         She stood at the base of the tree with her hands on her hips. "You're really not going to let me up there are you?"
         "Don't look at me, it's your physical limitations that are keeping you from coming up here," he grinned, she frowned.
         She sighed and jumped up, grabbing the branch, letting the tips of her toes graze the grass as they moved back and forth across the ground. "This is pathetic," she thought aloud.
         "I'm sorry; I'll pull you up."
"Thank you, jerk" she smiled.
"You know I love you right?" He said as he extended his arm to her to grip.
"Yeah yeah, you love me and you need me and all that jazz," she said, waving her hands in the air with a smirk.
"No," he said.
"What?" She asked, taken aback.
"I don't need you."
"W-what?" She repeated.
"No, I've thought about this," he said. She bit back a sick feeling. "I realized that I don't-" he was cut off by her abruptly turning and running: she didn't think she had to hear the rest. She was convinced he was breaking up with her. "No! Sarah! I meant- It's not what you think!" He shouted after her, jumping from the tree, but she hadn't heard. She had already disappeared from sight.

Her eyes snapped open at the sound of her name.
"Miss Harris, I'm sure communication is of the utmost importance, but could you at least save it until after class?" The teacher asked, obviously annoyed. Mr. Burman was a burnt out teacher that would rather bust his students than keep teaching another moment.
Sarah was confused by his reprimand until her eyes fell on a folded piece of notebook paper on her desk with her name scratched across the front in a familiar handwriting: Zach. "Sorry sir, it won't happen again." She went to stuff the note in her pock when Mr. Burman walked back and stopped her.
"Oh no, if you're going to read it, we might as well read it to everyone else as well." Sarah scowled as she placed the note into his fat, outstretched hand. Sarah glanced over at Zach, whose face was blazing bright red as he stared at the floor with his head down.
Why does he look so embarrassed? Sarah thought to herself.
"Ahem. To Sarah," Mr. Burman read aloud, his voice dripping with more malice and sarcasm on would ever imagine appropriate for a teacher. He strutted slowly back and forth across the front of the room as he read.
"Sarah, you didn't let me finish last night. It's not what you think.  Ooh, conflict," he added smugly.
"I want to explain, so please, just read this through before you toss it. Its true Sarah, I don't need you. I want you."
"I want the way you smile.
I want the way you laugh.
I want the way you twirl your hair in your fingers and bite your lip when you're thinking.
I want the cinnamon smell you pride yourself in from that lotion you got on sale.
I want the way you poke the center of my forehead when I'm not paying attention.
I want how you always try to walk with our feet in rhythm.
I want when you sneak up behind me and laugh when I jump.
I want how you always manage to screw up making jello.
I want how you sing when you think no one can hear you.
I even want they way you love to fix my hair, and ruffle it when you can't.
I want you when you can't find a thing on earth that doesn't fascinate you.
I want you when you're angry.
I want you when you're happy.
I want you when you're sad.
I don't need you to be one way for me.
I want everything you are, no matter how you change.
That's all I wanted to say. Sarah May Harris, I don't need you. I want you." Mr. Burman paused, and folded the note back up. "Well isn't that sweet," he said, seconds before the bell rang.
Everyone rushed out of the room, whispering and laughing, with a scraping of chairs and thundering footsteps. Sarah slung her backpack over her shoulder and bashfully went to the front of the room and retrieved her note from Mr. Burman. He smiled at her, but for the first time, it wasn't cynical or vicious. It was just a regular smile.
She nodded and walked out of the classroom where she found Zach waiting by the door, his eyes glued to his old shoes, his face barely recovered from its beet red color.
Sarah threw her arms around him and his head shot up in shock. She rested her head on his shoulder as he snaked one arm around her waist.
She whispered in his ear, grinning. "I don't need you either."