High School 1

There I was, stepping out of the bus to get to my 2 pm class. The sun was shining bright in the sky... a little too bright, if you ask me. I've never liked the eternal summer we have in this tropical country. I've never understood heat. I've never understood many things.

To get to school I had to take an hour-long bus ride from my horrible neighborhood to Bolivar Avenue. The bus would stop at one side of the avenue, so I had to walk down all the way to school. Nothing special, actually. Many kids my age would do the same or even more. I'm not complaining. What I complained about a lot back then was that I was going to graduate from high school in some months and I hadn't got a girlfriend.

Yes, I admit it. Wearing a mustache is probably not the sexiest trait, especially when one's face is devoid of any trace of facial hair other than such a mustache. Yes, I admit it. I wasn't the most sports guy out there. I hated PE, not because I hated sports but because balls hated me. There was no way a basketball or a volleyball would go the direction I intended, no matter how hard I tried. I was very good at running, though, so I was kind of good in track and field. However, the little attractiveness I could get from it, I'd totally lose it when my running would also help me run from bullies and dogs. To make matters worse, I had (and have) problems socializing and spent my days sitting in one corner of the classroom. The wild side of me would make me change corners though.

So there I was, thinking about how hot the day was and how lonely I was, pitying myself to death. And there she was, her mouth a little open, staring at the door, trying to catch a glimpse of who was going to step outside as if she couldn't just wait a few seconds.

The bus left. The street was empty except for Sofia and me. She was smiling. Her thick lips were a little open, so I could see a few of her teeth. Her hands were holding a notebook behind her. She was softly swinging from side to side.

"Hi. How are you, Jay?"

"Fine. But it's hot, right?"

"Yeah. I mean, I feel like I'm roasted already."

"Were you waiting here for a while?"

"Yeah."

"For me?"

"Yeah."

"Again?"

"Yeah."

"Why, though?"

"What do you mean "why", silly? Let's go." She said this while laughing at a joke I didn't understand, but her cheeks got rounder and she got cuter, so I didn't care.

We went down the Avenue, talking of random stuff I can't even remember now, but there was this uneasiness that never left me back then. Why was I so undesirable?