Many thanks to the incredibly sexy David/somethingwitty37 for letting me steal this plot.

You always came first to lunch, a few minutes before your friends. I loved you in those minutes because you looked so vulnerable and alone. You looked as if you might be afraid that today they had something cooler to do than eat lunch with you. Then your friends showed up, of course. Why would they be anywhere but with the most beautiful girl in the world? You resumed your place as rightful queen of the world, shoving away whatever courtier you were tired of today.

Part of the court trooped after you, to Advanced English. You sat in the back, never raising your hand and looking radiantly bored. Sometimes you scribbled in a little pink notebook, writing too fast and intently for it to be notes.

You sat on the hood of your boyfriend’s car, smoking cigarettes. You have elegant hands. Your friends stood around the car, surrounding your throne.

One day I saw you smoking alone, behind the music wing. You were crying. I wanted to go out and talk to you, but somehow my hands wouldn’t open the door.

You talked to your girlfriends loudly enough for the entire cafeteria to hear, about how sweet your boyfriend was, how cool his apartment was, how expensive the presents he bought you were, and how mind-blowingly good he was in bed. Were you trying to make us jealous? You don’t have to try to do that. I think you do that by breathing.

I brushed against you as you sat on a staircase, giggling and whispering into a slightly less pretty girl’s ear. I wanted to know all your secrets, I wanted to tell you all of mine. I also wanted to feel your breath on my ear, on my neck, on-

You had a short, short skirt. It looked expensive. Perversely, I wanted to give you some decent clothing. You were far too beautiful for everyone to look at like that.

As I left English, I saw you had left your little pink notebook. It was a chance to talk to you! There was even a chance it might be important, a chance you might be grateful to me.

There was a chance it might contain your secrets. You were so beautiful, it seemed you had no secrets at all. You were too happy and popular for secrets. But the day you were smoking and crying…there must be a secret somewhere.

I read your notebook. Sorry.

I wanted something dramatic, anorexia or suicide. I wanted a deep dark secret only I knew, so I could hold you and make it all better. I could save you, and you would love me. Instead, I read that you were lonely. I never suspected you could feel something as mundane as that.

So in your five minutes of sitting alone, I walked up to you and offered you a cigarette. I kind of couldn’t believe it when the words actually came out of my mouth.

I guess all your friends are gonna be wondering where you are when they get to lunch, huh?