I could see the way you looked at him- sometimes a fleeting glance, sometimes a prolonged stare- always at a moment when you were sure he wouldn't catch you. I never said anything. It wasn't my place. And what would I say anyway? That I had seen the way you watched him, devouring every move he made, your eyes filled with longing? I decided that if you were in love with him (which to me you obviously were), then it was entirely your business.
I remember several times that I convinced myself I was imagining it. You would never be attracted to him, I thought. That's impossible. I'm just seeing things. But then I would catch you staring at him again. For some reason, I was the only one who noticed. He never did, at any rate. He was always too busy laughing and joking around. Since there was nothing I could do, and nothing you were going to do, I let it be and said nothing.
And then there was the Yule Ball. Oh dear, that was a fiasco. It was like the fright of exam time, only increased tenf