He was dreaming, it was easy to see.

In the seat furthest back, in the desk most abused by time and the like, he curled around himself, and fell asleep.

I found myself closest to this boy, on the first day of school. My head down on my desk, I heard a shuffling next to me of papers falling. I never looked up, not until later.

He was not terrible strange, back then.

We exchanged words, his eyes fell on my exposed legs, it did not bother me.

I liked to watch the way he chewed on his pens, same as me, only different.

We never once asked to barrow a pen from one another.

He once forgot his book, and when I offered to share mine with him, he moved close, and intoxicated me. Cigarettes and something else, I could never put my finger on, in the two hours we sat there. I learned about the Buddhist religion, but I never found out what could give off, such a fascinating smell.

He liked to pick at a scab on the top of his hand, sometimes it would bleed and he would put it in his mouth, and I found myself, wanting to taste it.

He liked to watch me pull split ends out of my hair, when I decided I didn't care what the teacher was saying. I liked the way he watched me, especially when he had his hand in his mouth.

He once came to class horny. And I couldn't help rubbing my eyes and wonder, how in the hell it was, that I knew that. He pulled off and on his shoes, and bit harder on his pen. Knowing he was horny, made me horny. My mind was cruel to me that day, and by the time I had gotten home, I could smell myself.