She doesn't know how I look at her. I don't think she wants to. She's just as scared as I am. Just as unwilling to fall. Just as worried about being hurt. All my friends have their girls, and for some reason, some of them think she is mine.
Sometimes I think I'd like her to be mine. Sometimes I wonder if she'd like me to be hers. We're not as young anymore. No longer do thoughts of cooties worry us. Threats of kisses hold little power. It's nothing I haven't got before.
Jack gives me a look every time she's around. For someone so smart, he sure can be dumb sometimes. Because it's obvious she's not mine. Obvious from the way she'll avoid my gaze, as if on purpose. From the way she doesn't notice how I look at her.
She's not my girl.
But that's not my fault.
