Captain of the debate team. Big dark blue eyes, a genuine smile, practical genius, the kind, surely, even her parents would love. If he actually knew she existed. She is a wall clinger, she hides her face with a long sheet of black hair, she sits behind this potential greatness, and she feels her stomach jump a little. Every class, she is behind him, never vice versa. It varies from right behind, to two desks away, but still so close. He's quiet, and observant. She thinks he's gorgeous. She loves his eyes and his feathery hair and the fact that he's oblivious to her. He is in each of her AP classes. As the nameless teacher rambles, she wonders if he likes anime, or maybe classical art. He bumps into her on the way out, and she is knocked over. Her books go tumbling, her glasses are kicked, and she's vulnerable. He stops and picks up her books and glasses. He helps her up and gives her the books and the glasses and the sheet of hair now unveil thin wisps of face. He thinks she's beautiful, but of course, he will say nothing. He smiles obligingly and apologizes. Her heart pounds at that smile. She will not raise her hopes. He tries to bump into her again. Why has he not noticed her? He feels terrible. The gnawing feeling will not go away. He doesn't know, though. He doesn't know. They meet again, and again, and again, and she thinks he might be the one. She chats with mother and father about this. Father isn't sure about this. She pats Father's hand and assures him it's nothing even though it is. He remains quiet for the rest of the night. Before she goes to sleep, however, she writes in her special paint, blood red across her ceiling his name, Nikolai. What a nice name. It sounded Russian. Mother and father are still sitting there, eyes glassy, barely breathing. There is a fourth chair. A fourth chair, for Nikolai. She falls asleep, thinking about how cute he'd look gutted like a fish. Yeah. I got bored.