It was such a simple gesture: I yawned so he reached out and pulled my head onto his shoulder. 'You look tired,'� he said. 'Let me hold you.'�
We were friends once, before our bodies changed and hormones set in. Our tastes in music and clothes made enemies in the cafeteria, oil and water in the pan. So how did it happen, a chance moment in an empty stairwell before class? I can't remember. But I yawned, he leaned in, and I found myself settled into the crook of his neck with his arms around my waist. He smelled like a popular boy (he was), all sports and million-dollar grins. My black nail polish screamed 'Outcast!'� so loud the heavens heard it. But, still, we didn't move. Popular Boy and Outcast taking a break from how we were supposed to act, how we were supposed to be. For a second we forgot labels and remembered each other's names'�

The bell rang. By second period Biology we were back into our roles, ignoring the hearts bleeding silently on each other's sleeves.

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