Unnoticed

Every guy notices her as she walks into the room. I do too, of course, but I'm more interested in everyone else noticing her. All of us are sitting alone at long tables with empty seats; there are no empty tables. I'm sure she can feel all the eyes on her but she avoids them all, sits near me and flips open a textbook. She has long sun-coloured hair that must have taken her the morning to set in its perfect, unmoving shape. Her shirt doesn't come down all the way to her pants so to tease the world with lascivious smooth skin. She must make an affair out of everywhere she goes, even on a Sunday and even to the library.

The others share their attention equally with their books and her. She pretends not to notice.

And me? I'm pretending too, like I don't see her because I'm writing this. Like there's no trace of her perfume between us. But soon she'll be alone at this table, pretending, and I'll be gone.