He could be beautiful, if the cigarette wasn’t resting between his index and middle finger. If he didn’t lift it to his lips every other moment to inhale the toxic smoke. He could be beautiful if he didn’t sit across from me and drink his friend's mother's beer. I sat and ate Easy Mac. I cant make Easy Mac, it's odd and it tastes terrible anyways. Meaghan was kind enough to make it for me. Sixth period would be over in about ten minutes and I would have to drive us back to school because she had detention and I wanted to hang out. He sat across from me and I remember how much I hated him in seventh grade. How he seemed as much as an asshole then as he did now, maybe more of an asshole now. His body was perfect and tan and I felt uncomfortable. I laughed when he complained there was only three cigarettes left from his new pack. He did a goofy grin and I sat there stuffing the Easy Mac in my mouth. He was such a pathetic. I may be a pathetic myself, but I find him to be an even bigger one. The question is…am I more pathetic when I dwell on how it bothers me?