Who is Thinking of Me Right Now?

Thock-

I tossed my bag onto the desk, the light hollow sound echoing slightly. Inside was just a single pen, a notebook, and—completely out of character for me—a book of poetry.

God, I’m exhausted. I opened my mouth wide and let out a massive yawn, big enough to surprise a hippo. Right then, I happened to glance to my side.

Blindingly white morning sunlight was pouring in through the window. Right onto K.

Bathed in the light, K’s silhouette glowed with a white halo. His face was almost transparently clear, and the apricot-colored freckles scattered across his cheeks were barely visible against the backlight. His shaggy, pale yellow hair looked almost pure white in the sun.

Too pale for a guy, I thought.

I bet he’s terrible at sports, and his only hobby is probably locking himself in his room reading manga. Not that I’m judging—I like Batman and One Piece too.

But wait, why am I even staring at him? I’ve never even sat next to him before. How do I know about the freckles? Or the way his dark eyes create such a sharp contrast against that messy hair?

First period is Math, my absolute least favorite subject. The teacher gave up on me a long time ago anyway. My only goal for today is to sit here in the back row and finish the last few pages of my poetry book before the bell rings.

The title of the book was simple: Who is Thinking of Me Right Now?

It’s a small paperback, barely bigger than my palm, with a deep burgundy cover and vermilion lettering.

I wonder what K is thinking about, staring straight ahead like that. He’s looking right at the girl in front of him—the one with the braided pigtails who looks like Anne of Green Gables. (I don’t remember her name, sorry.)

Does he like her?

Well, the only thing I know for sure is… right now, I am thinking of K.

The guy I’ve never even played a single game of basketball with.

One More Thing: The Real Reason I Hate Math

“Matthew! I know you’re a ‘sensitive, literary soul,’ but in my class, I’d appreciate it if you could pay at least a little attention to geometry.”

Ms. Lilac—a woman who was anything but ‘flowery,’ looking sharp and stern behind her thin, silver-rimmed glasses—snatched the book right out of my hands.

She glared at the cover and scoffed.

“…‘Who Am I Thinking of Right Now?’ ”

Is she serious? Can she not read, or is she just blinded by all those numbers? I bit my lip, annoyed by the way she flipped the title like that. She’d never shown any interest in me before, and now she wanted to play judge?

“So? Who are you thinking about, Matthew?” she asked, her voice as sharp and stinging as her glare.

At that moment, K turned his head.

Our eyes met.

Now I remember why I hate Math. Because it’s exactly where I realized who has been on my mind all along.

I looked straight at K and murmured, “…I think I’ve already been caught.”