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Prima Ballerina

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It was the first day, last year of school. We passed each other in the hallway outside the cafeteria when she stumbled and bumped into my shoulder.
“God! Sorry, I’m so sorry!” I never had a chance to say or do anything before she ran off towards the stairs leading up to the library. But I remembered her. The smell of lemons and that impossibly long hair, the color of moonlight.


I had to know her name!


Days went by and there was no sign of her. I sometimes thought I had made her up. Then one day I saw her as she passed through the doors to the guidance counselor. I almost followed her, but the bell rang. If there was one class I couldn’t afford to miss it was Calc. Mr. Grabowski made it perfectly clear that I needed to up my game if I wanted to pass. Calc bores me to tears.


Second bell sounded and Grabowski rolled up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt. “As you all remember from last week…” The door opened, and there she was, clearly uncomfortable being late enough to interrupt something. “Yes?”
Her skin turned the cutest shade of pink and she let that long hair fall in front of her face.
“Ehm, Mrs. Bloom wanted me to take this class instead of Trig.” I could barely make out what she said.
“Oh, yes. She did say something about that. Take a seat.” He gestured in my direction.
I couldn’t believe my luck. Our eyes met and I smiled a little. And nothing. Most girls smile back, maybe blush a little, but I’d never had anyone look away and walk right past me as if I didn’t exist. Inconceivable.



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