Some guy took a picture of me and my boyfriend at the Harry Potter midnight thing, so I wrote about him!
In the corner of my vision I see two teenagers curled up in the history section. The girl was sitting against the bookshelf flipping through a book that I couldn't recognize, while the boy had his head buried behind her back, between the bookshelf and her.

I could see that the boy didn't want to be there, his arms were crossed and his foot shook.

In the bookstore everyone had staked a claim, a place where other people were not to enter, a corner, a hall, a place, which was hard considering the huge amount of people crammed into this one bookstore at midnight to get the last Harry Potter.

From where I was, from the place I had clamed I could see them, I could watch them.

I could see from where I was a lone small boy sitting in their isle opposite them, he had a large book pulled in front of him but I could see it, he was looking up the girls small skirt. I knew the girl knew the small boy was doing this, but she didn't seem to mind. Sitting on the ground in a skirt that short, it's hard to not look. Her thin legs were pulled up supporting the book, the small boy had the perfect view, I was jealous.

The tight tank top reveled them, the girl's neck was covered in hickies; even from where I was sitting I could see them. Red and raw, under her jaw and on her back. She was rebelling, she basked in the glowers of the mothers, she swam in the jealous eyes of middle-aged men.

I could hear her.

"No, we blew it all on candy remember?" She leans down over him. "I have to use my debt card."

I watched her rub his stomach in a way only the young can. The boy snaked his fingers around her and pulled her from the back, hoisting himself up he placed his lips on the back of her neck. She melts.


The small boy behind the book is watching more intensely now.

They ignore the children afoot around them, they reject the activities taking place, they disregard the eyes that rest on them, and they embrace the freedom of their youth.

Only teenagers can walk into a Borders at midnight covered in hickies, sex, and weed. Only they can wear tiny skirts and be beautiful in every position they are in, only teenagers will let ten year old boys look up their skirt.

She curls into the boy, her legs intertwine into his, they whisper things I cannot hear, and then they pull away. She slips two fingers into her mouth and chews on them.

I can hear them again.

"I'm excited." She says around her fingers, she barley sounds excited.

The boy runs his fingers along her back; she shudders, laughs, pulls the boy close, kisses him, and pushes him away. A thousand years pass by in one moment.

Her tiny feet propelled her up, the boy grabs and the ends of her skirt from his place on the floor, "No." he whines.

The girl giggles, I can see her face, it is flawless. "I'm bored with you, I'll be back." She shoos his hand away.

I watch, hypnotized by her hips, fascinated by her fingers, enchanted by her eyes.

She walks past me, I duck deeper into my bookshelf and watch her pass me by. Her legs move like liquid, her lips off colored by candy. They are blood red. One of her converse is untied; she ignores it completely, letting the pink string slide along the floor.

The boy, from his stomach on the floor, watches her go, watches the people watching her go. He spots me, and then looks back at her.

He has claim over the tiny angel girl. I hardly had any right to look at her. But I cannot help myself, no man could, we all watched.

I watch her pull her fingers out of her mouth reveling blue gum, stretching it out, then sucking it back into her mouth. She is swaying to some mysterious music only playing in her head.

She pulls out book for a bit before deciding, she makes her way back to her boy, passing by me again.

I watch her glide past me, slow and unsteady. She does not look at me as she passes, she has no reason to.

She does not care. She walks crooked, rather then straight, she runs he sticky fingers along the bookshelf, she barely takes her feet off the ground as she walks.

The boy has his arms spread out, waiting for her return. She smiles boredly at him and plops down in his lap.

They are whispering again.

Hours pass watching by these two, watching them push and pull one another closer and further away.

I am terribly fascinated by them for the rest of the night.

Stupid ending, I know. It was either that or he starts masturbating in the halls...