Color me red

I was intrigued by Noah. Everything about him drew me nearer to him. From the minute I saw him, I wanted to know his story and thought he might be a person worth speaking with. I had transformed over the school years to a more creative outcast than a rebellious punk.

My junior year, I finally had a class with Noah. It was Creative Writing with Ms. Beck. The first part of the semester I observed from a distance. I had developed in somewhat of the comic relief in a classroom with such serious (by choice) topics. Noah had been conversing a lot with a girl in the class that had the same sort of appeal he did. It made sense to me, so I watched from a distance. The semester was relatively uneventful, and I eventually figured that he would never notice me or pay interest to me, so I moved on to playfully enjoying the class.

One slow day in class we were having a free-write / free-for-all day. I sat on the back counter unaware that I was being watched while I scribbled away in my notebook. Throughout the class time that day, I changed positions and locations frequently, sometimes stopping to talk with friends. The bell rang and I was met with a stack of white papers on my desk. I looked up with confusion, and there he was. He smiled at me, then walked away.

On my desk were page after page of sketches. Each one had me, in one position or another. They were drawn crudely, but accurately. It was obvious that the girl in the picture was me. And then, there were the pictures that were so obvious, I blushed as I looked at them.

There was me, straddling a desk and bent forward scribbling furiously in my book. A red triangle of fabric peeking above my pants and contrasting with my bare skin.

I later learned this was the first time he had taken a keen interest in me. It was a door opening to one of the most fruitful relationships I have ever had.