I caught him looking
at me. He looked away
once our eyes met. That's what
we do when we're caught looking
at someone. I look away, too.
And we look at something else –
anything else. It ends
there, right? We just look away.
We just pretend we caught
nothing, and were never caught.
Does he dare look again? What if
I catch him again? I quickly
brush my hand over my face.
Do I have something embarrassing
hanging from my eyes, my nose? Run
my tongue over my teeth, check
for stray spinach. I look again,
but no. He's looking away
now; walking away, too.
I will never know his name.