How can he do this to me?

I did not look at him when he walked into the classroom.
I could have smiled or nodded my head at him like the cool kids do.
Instead I cursed him for being there.
He was going to screw this up for me.
I knew he would.
And he did.
Of course he did.
Standing at the front,
facing the room,
with his piercing eyes on me
time and place was lost.
My voice did not belong to me.
It was weak and stuttering.
Hands fumbling on the piece of paper
with funny words written on it
that I did not understand.
Our eyes meet for less than a second,
I forget how to breathe.
The silence in the room is deafening.
Giving up,
I gesture for the others to continue
as I turn to the wall and breathe.
How can he do this to me?

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