Exercise from Dec. 7

The clock was moving excruciatingly slow. I wanted to will it to tick and tock faster, but to no avail. I glanced at him across the room. He was sitting with his legs crossed, his fingers tapping his forehead.
No matter how anxious he was, he still managed to look excruciatingly beautiful. His dark hair accentuated his large, emerald eyes.
Lips, smooth and slim like a model's, which led me to question if he was one. If not, then where have those nodding agents been, in a garbage dump? Then our eyes met, and I felt a blush crept onto my face as my gaze darted away. I noticed his did, too. What was that, a sign? I didn't know. I wanted to talk to him, but I was afraid, because I soon learned he was our school's most feared fighter.
Oh, what did it matter? He was beautiful, and superficiality often won me over. I checked my breath with my hands and patted my hair. I saw him glance in my direction again, and this time, I kept a steady stare. Suddenly, he started to laugh and point at me. I glanced down, panicking. Was this like a nightmare where I had forgotten to wear my pants? No, it was way, way, worse - I'd forgotten to wear my makeup.


This was one of our group exercises. The breaks represent changes in authors. It's a strange one, I know.

-Zerin