The Seat Behind Her

The Seat Right Behind Me

Charlie never looked back at me although I sat behind him all through sixth grade. I think he never even knew the color of my hair or eyes. I bet he didn’t notice anything about me, except that I was a girl.

In seventh grade he sat at the back of the room in my algebra class. He was so smart, the teacher always called on him, and Charlie knew every answer, but he didn’t know my name. I know because he was supposed to work with me on a project, and he said, “Who is that?” to the teacher.

In eighth grade Charlie pretended he’d never seen me, even though we had worked for weeks on that project and gotten an “A” on it.

When we graduated from junior high, Charlie was right behind me. Of course, they called my name, but he probably didn't listen. Besides, he really should have known by then.

My freshman year, when I asked Charlie to the girls ask boys dance, he pretended he couldn’t remember my last name. Why is it I remember everything about Charlie? I give up.

Months followed, months where Charlie still didn't seem to know me. He never returned my smiles and hellos. In fact, he never even seemed to notice them.

And then one day, he called me by name.

“Charlene,” Charlie said as I was walking down the hall with Tracy. I stopped and waited. I thought he probably just needed a homework assignment.

Charlie's hair had gotten lighter. I think he’d done something to it. The streaks of gold looked cool. He had on new Nikes, too. Charlie was really looking good. I sighed and told myself to stop dreaming about him.

“You need to see my math notes, or did you lose your assignment?” I asked when Charlie kept standing there not saying anything. But he just kept clearing his throat and shuffling his feet.

He shot a glance over at Tracy, who was waiting, leaning on the wall and watching us. Charlie didn’t answer me. I sighed again and opened up my notebook to find the assignment.

“No,” Charlie said, and his hand trying to stop me from getting out the notes, touched mine. He retracted like I’d bitten him. His face turned tomato red.

I sighed once more and shot a glance at my watch. He saw the look and cleared his voice again.

“There’s a dance Friday,” he said.

I almost dropped my books. I looked up at him, my mouth dropping stupidly open.

“Would you go with me?” he said, croaking worse than a teacher with laryngitis.

The bell rang, but I shot a “yes" at him before he ran off. Charlie runs funny, but he’s still so cute. My heart pitter-pattered just like in the Fishbowl’s new song:

Your heart is a dove
When it’s really love.
Pitter-patter
Pitter-patter
Take it easy, and it’ll come,
Then it beats just like a drum.
Pitter-patter
Pitter-patter

I couldn’t wait for math class. It was right after lunch. Guess who always sat in the seat right behind me!