X'es through the hearts

Returning to the all-too familiar ground of "not-talking" conversations, I am thrown back to my middle-school days. All of thirteen years old and doodling round hearts down the side of my Social Studies notebook. Shyly rubbing my sneaker up against the side of my leg in a fit of a hyped-up excitement that I would understand later as an even deeper, sensual dance of seduction. Not talking, just bobbing up and down, floating between his words, some of which I'm not even hearing. Who cares, I'm thinking, who cares about what his iguana eats for breakfastlunchanddinner. And then someone ruins it all. There is always that one kid in class, the annoying, obnoxious upstart who pitches forward in glee whenever someone stutters mid-sentence during a presentation: "He's been doing that since we were five," the upstart says, "he needs some help." This time, it is me that he targets, "He's going to ask you out on a date," the upstart says, "You're going out. Where are you going to take her, the movies? You gonna see The Lion King?". My boy blushes as the upstart guffaws. Something has happened, the balance has shifted, and I am left furiously drawing X'es through the hearts as he leans back and stares at his book.