When the bell rang for Mr. Pearlman's class, I wanted to run after Owsley. I really did.
However, I am not a total sadcase who stalks awkward poets. So I just gave a glance at him
and went on my way to the cafeteria to eat my peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich.

I daydreamed a bit in class about what could've happened. How I would tell Owsley that
his poem was great, and that he would react by grasping my shoulders and saying "Thank you!"
in that deep voice of his, and we would go frolic in the fields together while holding hands.

But that was a stupid dream, so here I was.

The cafeteria seemed normal enough. It was only maybe my first week here in this
school and I quickly picked up on their different cliques. Everyone split up in their little teen-aged
factions, organized by current trends or lack of them. One group of boys and girls littered with
letterman jackets and colorful clothes. Another shrouded in darkness, a uniform of black tight
shirts and pants and shaggy dyed-black hairstyles.

Owsley was with one small group of boys at the edge of the cafeteria. He looked good,
his body facing me, hunched over a plate of lukewarm pepperoni pizza. He seemed a bit out of it, occasionally drifting off to stare at the walls.

At that moment, I decided I should pick a place in this cacophony of young people. Over
by Owsley's side of the cafeteria, to the table to the right, was a small girl with wavy black hair
and red-rimmed glasses. I placed my crumpled sandwich bag in front of her and asked
(politely), "Anyone sitting here?"

She looked up from her own book to look at me, brown eyes wide as if I was some sort
of mythical creature. Then again, I've been told how cute and handsome I was by plenty of
abuelas,lolas, andobasans. Not to brag.

All she could do was quickly close her book shut and stammered: "Y-yeah. Sure. I'm
Karla...by the way. You're the new kid, right?."

"Yep. Name's Ethan. What's up?"

"My friend Valerie sits here but..." She checked the clock on the wall. "I think the teacher
must've held her back or something for talking."

"I don't think Mr. Pearlman would care enough to do that." I gave a small chuckle. "People talk in his class all the time."

"Yeah? Well it's Mrs. Aguirre's Math class and she gets pissed if you even so much as to breathe heavily." She giggles as well, stance easing up a bit after talking more.

I relax too, placing my hand on the side of my head. My eyes drifted off towards Owsley and his own group. I wondered what he was thinking about. I wondered if he would think of me if he even knew that I was alive.

"By any chance do you happen to know an Owsley Laurenzi?" I muttered to Karla.

"Owsley? He's like, the only person I know with that name," Karla said. "I used to talk to him a bit in middle school...but I haven't seen him around much lately...why'd you bring him up?"

"Oh, no reason. He just wrote this terrific poem in Mr. Pearlman's class and I happen to think he's a genius."

"Yep, that sounds like him. He's the artsy type. I think I still have this drawing he did of my characters up on my wall..." She glanced down. "If you'd like, you can talk to him. It's alright. I'll just wait for Valerie over here."

"Nah. You come with. To bridge the gap, y'know."

"O-okay...sure." Karla got up, putting her gigantic backpack on and clutching her book to her chest like it was her life source. After swallowing a bit of PB , I strutted along cross the cafeteria with my new friend by my side.

The smell of Owsley's table was a mix of woodsy deodorant, sweat/body odor, and the pizza that most of them were having. One of the boys, a heavyset guy with slight facial hair and a well-worn black hoodie was playing a game on his console. Some of the others watched as well, with Owsley being one of them. Another boy, about 14 with long hair, picked his nose as Owsley remain engrossed in whatever game Black Hoodie Guy was playing.

"Fuck!"said Black Hoodie Guy.

"Looks like Sakura's beating your ass." said the long haired kid.

"Shut up." Black Hoodie Guy replied. He must've noticed us, because he put down the console on the table, the screen frozen to show a pixelated pink-haired girl kicking at a masked man. "Hey Karla...and..."

"Ethan. Ethan Palmer? Y'know. New kid."

He squinted at me a bit, crossing his arms as if disarmed but what I would like to think was my golden-haired beauty.

"Ah. Name's Earl. What's up? Owsley's back."

I waved at Owsley and he gave me a wave as well, paired with a crooked smile. When he waved his sleeve rolled back, to which I noticed white gauze peeking through. That made me think, where the heck did Owsley go in the first place? From the looks of it, it certainly wasn't a vacation.

I kept my mouth shut about it, though. Didn't want to risk putting the mood down and making him uncomfortable.

Claiming a space near Owsley was my next step, and luckily there was room for me to do so. I sat my pretty ass down next to him as we bumped shoulders. I could hear Owsley's breath hitch, as Owsley couldn't help but look back at me due to our closeness.

"Hey. Owsley right?" I turned my head toward him, making conversation.

"Yeah. You in Mr. Pearlman's?"

"I was. I gotta say man, your poem was terrific."

He stared at me, a bit red and fiddling with the end of his sleeve. "Thanks."

"Was it real?" I asked. It was kind of a stupid question. But I was curious.

"What do you mean?" Owsley said.
"I mean—the poem. Was it real? Like, did it actually happen to you?"

"I wish." Owsley mumbled, his leg bouncing as it presses against my own

"Hey, new kid," Earl said from across the table. "Owsley also draws great cartoons. Show him, man."

Owsley pulled out a sketchbook from beside him. It was a black, hardbound book that had a white, peeling sticker on the cover labeled "Owsley Laurenzi's—KEEP OUT!"

"I really like...this one," he flipped through the book to show a realistic pencil drawing of a boy, around our age, with messy black hair and wide, innocent eyes. The boy was looking down, with acne dotted across his face. Beautiful, but imperfectly human. "I usually do comics and strips and stuff though. Like Peanuts shit. I used to do some illustrations for the school newspaper, but not anymore though. Been...busy." Owsley drifted off.

"Geez. I'm impressed. Wish I could have half your talent," I said, in my usual adoring voice. God, I've became such an Owsley fanboy it's painful. "We should hang out sometime."

Owsley smiled while looking down, tore a piece of sketchbook paper from his book and scribbled something into it. "Yeah sure. Here's my contacts."

Breathless, I took the paper like it was The Ten Commandments. Their was a pause between us, not awkward but quiet, where the world seemed to slow down for a second. Then, the loud ringing of the school bell announced it's presents and suddenly I'm back to earth again.

"See you around." Owsley grabbed his backpack and headed off with a few of the shaggy-haired scholars as I picked up my own things. I wasn't sure what was happening, but I knew one thing.

Owsley Laurenzi didn't know what hit him.