The way she presents herself. The way she sits, speaks, wears her clothes, even just existing makes me desire her. She sits in the back of the class, right next to me.
Her eyes staring at the teacher, watching every move she makes. Her posture perfect, her features beautiful. Her smirk mocks me, but I don't care.
Her voice like warm honey, straight from a beehive. Her skin like pure vanilla. I drift my eyes away from the living angel. Her gaze burning the side of my head.
Out of habit my gaze turns back to her, our eyes catching. Her stare intensifies. Reading my every thought, every secret. Her gaze surrenders, giving back my soul.
“Pick a partner,” the teacher exclaims.
“Make sure to pick someone that you will actually work with,” she pronounces, eyeing Joey and his girlfriend.
My mind whirls, what are we doing? The floor rumbles underneath us as heels click on the ground. Lindsey. My eyes trickle upwards, to the face of the devil.
Her face a perfect complexion, barbie doll like. Her nails, not a chip to be seen. Her hair, perfect beach curls.
Her clothes, one hundred percent designer, from her jeweled headband to her tight knit stockings. Her lips in a tight smile showing her glossy white teeth.
Her lips wore a bright red gloss, making her cupid's bow higher than necessary.
“Hey cutie,” she announces, placing her tan arms down on my desk, her perfect symmetrical head in between he hands.
“Would you like to be my partner?” Her cute act doesn't cover up the demon that she is. Fake, lire, hater, bully, hypocrite. Words flash through my mind, making me recoil.
My mind reaches back to her, the angel. I don't even know her name.
“Sweety, are you okay?” her unworried voice stabs me. Again my eyes drift over to her, eyes begging. Begging for another way out. Her prepossessing lips tug into a small alluring smile.
Her eyes saying yes. Her eyes find Lindsey's, daring her.
“We’re already partners, sorry,” she mentions, her voice melting my heart. Lindsey huffs, giving me a disgusted look. Her nose scrunched, front teeth showing.
She turns on her heels and pads back from where she came from, her hips moving from side to side, sassily.
“Thanks,” my voice hardly a whisper. No reply. Just silence, engulfing all around us.
Her attention turns back to the front of the room, cheek in palms, turning pink as I continue to stare at her aesthetic face, body, eyes, clothes, lips.
Her pointer finger travels up to my dimple, in place on my cheek. She settles pressure into my face, turning my head back towards the teacher.