Marked

As I walked into my new classroom for the first time, I felt embarrassed. Everyone in the packed room was staring at me. There didn’t seem to be any place left to sit.

I hated this new school already. I hated always being transferred, my mom always moving to a poor and dangerous new city. Now I was in one of New York City’s worst neighborhoods.

I hated my mom, too, who, I knew, didn’t even love me.

I stood there, feeling like an idiot. I heard laughter and felt sure it was directed at me.

Just as I was getting ready to walk out of the class, and maybe even out of the school, I heard a voice.

“Here.”

I turned.

In the last row, beside the window, a tall boy stood from his desk.

“Sit,” he said. “Please.”

He was gorgeous. He had smooth, olive skin—I couldn’t tell if he was Black, Spanish, White, or some combination—but I had never seen such smooth and soft skin, complementing a chiseled jaw line.

His hair was short and brown, and he was thin. There was something about him, something so out of place here. He seemed fragile. An artist, maybe. Or maybe…a musician. Or a poet.

It was unlike me to be smitten by a guy. I’d seen my friends have crushes, but I’d never really understood.

Until now.

I was even more shocked to see him staring back at me.

At five foot five, I knew I wasn’t especially tall, and with my brown hair and brown eyes (and normal weight) I felt I was average. Certainly not beautiful, like some of the other girls. At 18, I was a bit older, but not enough to make me stand out.

But there was something about me that made people look twice. I knew, deep down, that I was different. But I wasn’t exactly sure how.

“I can’t take your seat,” I said to him. “Where will you sit?”

I hoped he couldn’t hear how nervous I was.

He smiled wide, revealing perfect teeth.

“Right over here,” he said, and moved to the large windowsill, just a few feet away.

I looked at him, and he returned my stare, our eyes fully locking. I told myself to look away, but I couldn’t.

I tried not to get lost in those eyes—large, glowing green eyes—but I couldn’t help it.

“That doesn’t look very comfortable,” I said.

He smiled wide.

“Class doesn’t last very long,” he replied. “Besides, you’d be doing me a favor. I need to stretch a bit.”

I could hardly believe it. I’d never met anyone like him before. So kind and gracious.

My day had seemed off to a terrible start. I didn’t think anything can turn it around.

But now, all of my troubles seemed to melt away at once.

“Thanks,” I said, mad at myself.

Thanks? That’s all you could manage to say? Thanks?!

“That’s right, Barack!” yelled a voice. “Give that nice white girl your seat!”

Laughter followed, and the noise in the crowded room picked up again.

I saw him lower his head, embarrassed.

“Barack?” I asked. “Is that your name?”

“No,” he answered, reddening. “That’s just what they call me. As in Obama. They think I look like him.”

I looked closely and realized that he did look like him.

“It’s because I’m half black, part white, and part Puerto Rican.”

“Well, I think that’s a compliment,” I said.

“Not the way they say it,” he answered.

I observed him as he sat on the windowsill, his confidence deflated, and I could tell that he was sensitive. Vulnerable, even. He didn’t belong in this group of kids. It was crazy, but I almost felt protective of him.

“I’m Caitlin,” I said, reaching out my hand and looking him in the eye.

He looked up, surprised, and his smile returned.

“Jonah,” he answered.

He shook my hand firmly. A tingling sensation ran up my arm as I felt his smooth skin envelop my hand. I felt like I melted into him. He held my grip a second too long, and I couldn’t help smiling back.

I knew at that moment that we would fall in love.