I see the way he looks at her, blue eyes tracing the entirety of her body, lingering on the curves of her hips and the waves in her hair. I notice the way he slows his long, steady strides just to walk by her side, sliding his hand to the small of her back as though to hurry her along, but really just to touch her, hands itching for the soft skin beneath the fabric of her t-shirt. I know how he feels about her—the way his heart races when she laughs at his jokes, the dizziness that leaves him swaying on the heels of his sneakers when she gives him a tight hug and all he can smell is her strawberry scented shampoo.

That poor boy is in love.