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    The Crush List
    1. Ryan Russell
    2. Franky Buffay
    3. Hans Schmitt
    4. Richie
    5. Kirk Yates
    6. Arthur
    7. Skippy
    8. Way
    9. Dig
    10. Xerox
    11. Burdalaire
    12. Patrick Fenaughty
    13. Doug Northsworthy

    I sat in school today, with nothing to do but think. Thinking isn’t bad, but it’s not always good. I cast a look around the room; students filling out the rest of their tests, some tapping their pencils on their desks in thought. One boy got up and walked over to the pencil sharpener. I remember what he was like in the beginning of the year. How big a crush he had had on the new girl, Chelsea. I had stuck up for her once, telling him to buzz off, and leave her alone. She was very pretty.
    Then I thought about the face I had seen in the mirror today.
    Beautiful, I had thought, simply beautiful. I had made a special outfit for today, just for the holidays. I had stood in front of the bedroom mirror, modeling it to myself. In all honesty, I could’ve been on a Target Holiday Sale commercial.
    I looked around the classroom again, this time feeling completely and utterly separate. I felt jaded. Like I wasn’t worth the time. It’s all so confusing; it jumbles up in my head and sticks to the frames of my thoughts, making my mind feel jumbled, hot, and stuffy. It’s not that I need it, but affection, even unwanted, is flattering and self assuring nonetheless. I wanted someone to be crazy about me.
    Today, I was handing out holiday gifts. Mostly for my friends. But I also had a present for number twelve. Maybe I had hoped that it would make him like me again, in some form of false faith. The second bell rang, and I made my way to my next class, my mind strayed, for now, of all negative thoughts.
    Soon the third period bell rang, than the fourth, and by this time the bag I had been carrying all the gifts in was empty, with the exception of one- number twelve. It was technology class; I put on a better mood and a happier face. I put my books at my place at the table, and looked to see if Patrick was here yet. He was over at the work table, where people used the saws during our wood work unit. He had used to sit next to me, but then Mr. Sanders, our technology teacher, changed the seats around and he got moved near the back of the room.
    The days I had spent with him sitting side by side had been the best. Whether it was last year in Mr. Caroza’s Science class, or this year in Technology, the moments had always been enraptured in sweetness and kindness. I’ve always enjoyed having boys as friends. For one, they didn’t gossip, or backstab, or backtalk, or get jealous, or be cruel, cold, or vicious in anyway. It’s always nice to have one friend you know is loyal to you just because that’s just how it should be. Maybe that was it… maybe I had been scared that I could ruin it all with three words.
    I can remember the beginning of this year. We sat side by side, at the same long-like table, rather close to each other. Too close for just friends. Our legs would brush up against each other, and stay that way so I could feel his warmth. I would draw pictures in my sketchbook and he would lean towards me taking notes or watch me draw. Sometimes he would doodle on my book, and then erase what he had drawn. He would tell me his opinions on my sketches, and tell me how great I draw. He had once told me in Art class that he wanted me to be an artist.
    I had known he liked me back then, but to what extent, I had no clue. At least until his friend, Nick, passed a note to me in Science saying that Patrick Fenaughty liked me. I had looked back at Patrick, and he had seemed to be fighting not to blush. I waved it aside, as if nothing had happened, and I think he saw it as brushing him off.
    I thought he still liked me, especially because of what we did, sitting in navy-blue ceramic chairs, in Technology, right next to each other. But lately I could sense he felt rejected towards me. I did like him, a least as a friend… maybe even more.
    I waited for a moment, then walked across the room to him.
    “Here,” I handed him the tall silver gift bag, with a small smile.
    “Oh,” he looked up at me “, thanks!” I turned back around to head over to my desk. I hadn’t felt any real reaction out of him. Just… appeased. I knew that would probably be his reaction- I always knew how people would react. It’s part of my own special gift.
    I glided through the rest of the day with unsatisfactory calmness. These days it always felt as if something was missing. Always. When the last bell rang a made my way to locker number sixty-one, and was grateful to see it wasn’t jammed shut. My locker was broken, just like every other locker in school, so I always left it propped open an inch or so, so that I could pry it open the next day. But Patrick found it quite amusing to jam my locker shut on me everyday… hilarious actually. His locker was just down the hall from mine.
    I shoved the necessary books into my backpack as students swarmed through the hall. I saw Patrick at his locker and decided to wait a little while, pretending to be looking for another book. I glanced over at him. He was still collecting books into his book bag, so I decided to just leave anyway. I headed for the staircase…
    SLAM!!!
    I spun on the spot, already sensing what I was about to see. Patrick had kicked my locker shut, and was now running past me down the hall with his two friends, chuckling.
    “Patrick!” I called after him aggravatingly, as he ran down the hall.
    “Sorry!” he said, now running backwards so that I could see his face. I could tell what his apology meant- he was sorry I was going to be late to class Monday.


    I got home, and headed first upstairs, so I could put my bags down, and put away my few presents from my friends. I sat down on my sister’s lower bunk, and began taking the presents out one by one.
    The card and bitten candy cane (which I ate at lunch) from Bridget, the green stone charm anklet from Jen, and the bottle of pink body mist from Crystal. I examined the body mist, then took the cap off and tried to smell it through the nozzle. I couldn’t really smell it, so I sprayed it on my wrist and sniffed. Pretty… distinguished… but light. I eyed the label, which read: Embrace the Body- Strawberry Ice.
    I had already read it once today, but this time I read it with a meaning. It was a desire. A craved, but wasted desire that I could never seem to forget. I didn’t want the actual physical meaning- only the emotional part. The loving part. To feel the embrace of a real love- a lasting love. Not so transitory, like so many relationships today. But was that really too much to ask? Too much to hope for? Even if it was futile to think about, I still wanted it.
    Embrace me.