Introductions are in order... aren't they?

My friends say that if I were to write a book, people would read it. I'm not sure, however that a publisher would want to buy my book with the understanding that four high school students would be their only customers... no matter how great my grades in English are or were.

So to save myself time, money, and a bloody typewriter (anachronistic, yet appropriate), I think I'll just stick with a blog instead.

The only thing you need to know: I am a paranoid francophile (with an "E" so you know it's feminine -- HINT!) with a penchant for independent films and unattainable older boys (Like the follower, who will be explained in due time).

Due time is now!

High school weight training. Do you ever get the feeling someone is watching you in the mirror of your school weight room? I did -- so I started paying more attention to the faces in the reflection. There was one guy - a senior - practically perfect in every way. Smart, funny, nice. He was the star of the track team (but not the kind of jock you fantasize about hitting with your parents' car). He reminded me of a mouse -- the Cute Mouse, I used to call him.

ANYWAYS. I called him the Follower because I saw him everywhere in the hallways. It was almost like he was following me, but I secretly knew he wasn't because I was just the weird, mousey girl with four friends and all the answers. So, I decided to "actively seek". My friends found this quite entertaining, and helped me in my quest to capture him for my own. Our escapades included:

• Taking secret pictures in the lunch room, where he just happens to be in the frame


• Stealing his picture from the student of the month poster


• Getting him to sign our yearbook on the last week of school

But I only spoke to him once -- "Nice job on placing third in state," I said. "Thanks," he said. I did, however, manage to catch him looking at me a few times. When he left, I couldn't stand it.

I, who had only ever cried in public once before, broke down emotionally and wept for someone who didn't even know my name. A major loss of face for me. Especially when one of my friends came up to me later and told me he had heard I was crying (wanted to know why -- but only facetiously, being male).

So, that's the Follower. I find little things on the ground that remind me of him now and then, and I try to construe these random playing cards and soggy scraps of paper as fate, binding us together in some unwordly way. Sad, huh?

Still want to read? I think I'll try to post every day, and they won't be as depressing as this one.