Timmy and Jane

Math has never been hard for Timmy. But he finds himself struggling that morning when Jane came in to class with her hair  braided in two. She always worn her hair down and he always thought that she's pretty. But braids, braids had made her beautifully mesmerizing. And without no doubt a whole mile more interesting than maths. She sat right beside him and he wished then that she didn't have to. Mrs. Evans appointed the sitting chart every month or so, switching the kids around so they would learn to befriend others. When Mrs. Evans told Timmy to move to sit beside Jane, he was beyond ecstatic; but this was different. He wanted to turn and stare looking at that hair all day but that would just be weird. So, he stole a peek now and then. For the most time, he looked down on his math problem, pretending to concentrate but unable to solve the easiest question because he was trying to solve his own. What had those braids done to him?

"Hey, Tim. How do you do number 4?" Jane suddenly whispered quietly almost unheard, but Timmy heard. Timmy turned his head towards her and that smell from her hair, one that he had been trying to figure out for the last half an hour, grew a tad stronger. Rice crispies. Usually it was flowery, some flower that he did not know. But that day, he smelled rice crispies; he liked rice crispies, they were sweet. Timmy shook his head to shoo away his thoughts, "Uh, what?" "Number 4,"Jane pointed to the question sheet. Tim took a glance a Mrs. Evans who had her eyes set on her next lesson plan papers. He shifted his answer sheet to let Jane see it.

When the test was over they turned their answers in. Mrs. Evans had put up her notes on the projector, "Write this down first, and they you're off for break." Jane wrote a line, and ask politely, "Can you help me write down the notes, Tim? I have to go to the choir room for a quick meeting." "Sure," Timmy said. He watched her clean up her desk and watch her shadow disappear from the corners of the classroom door. "For you, I'll write a page and back and a page more," he said quietly to himself. When he had finished his two copies of notes, his heart began to race as he pondered on the opportunity to write something on Jane's notebook. He wasn't sure what to write and how to express his feelings. So he started with something he knew to be true:

I like your braids

They smell nice

And then something he can't help noticing:

I can't do math around you

And something he's been dying to say:

I think that means I like you

He looked around, relieved that nobody saw him do that. He read his short poem three times, his heart still beating at an irregular pace. Suddenly fear clouded his judgement, he took his eraser and rub those 4 lines as hard as he could. Words started to disappear leaving pencil marks faint enough to read yet deep enough to notice. He regretted writing those lines with such passion. 

He closed her notebook and put it on top of her desk. He walked to the cafeteria for lunch, but decided to take a detour pass the choir room. He relaxed his pace trying to look nonchalant when he passed the door to take a peek. When he did, to his surprise, the room was empty. He got to the cafeteria and saw Jane and two girls from another class eating the lunch, chattering away.

Timmy sat with his lunch a couple of tables behind Jane, so he could see her without her noticing. Her braids bounced forward and back as she laughed at something her friends said. At that moment, Timmy was so relieved that he had erased his poem. He still liked her, no question about it. 

But, maybe, he thought, he should wait until she would wear her hair down again, so he could gather the courage to ask what was that flower scent he had been smelling. And maybe, he should wait until her presence makes him love math even more instead of hating it.