I can often relate to certain characters from classic literature. Now, as I gaze at you from across the room, I feel very much like Wendy, from Peter Pan.

“Peter, what are your exact feelings for me?”

I wish I could ask you Wendy's question, but Peter's answer was less than satisfying, and I fear yours will be too. Actually, I am almost certain your reply will disappoint me. So I don't ask.

You don't notice my stare as you make loud jokes with your friends. I really would much rather be over there, where it's fun, than here, in this dull group of girls. As soon as we finish, I can join him, I tell myself, and for the tenth time in the past five minutes, I steal another glance at the clock.

A half hour later, we are done, and I rush over to you and your group of guys. With any other girl, you would have all gone silent, but I am welcomed as “one of the boys.” I stand close to you, focusing now on your jokes and impressions.

You glance at me, and then down at my feet, pausing for only a second before making a witty remark about my shoes. I pretend to be offended, and quickly rebuke with a teasing comment on your hair. The others all make “oooh” sounds now, suggesting a fight. I cater to their request, and playfully swat at your face, allowing my fingers to brush against your cheek. You feign anger for a moment, before reaching out and clasping my hands in yours. You raise our hands high above my head, and I am forced to look up into your eyes. They are almost golden, and they stare straight back down at me. We are suddenly quiet, lost in each other's gazes, and in our own deep thoughts. Then, someone sneezes, and you snap awake, releasing my hands, and letting your own fall to your sides.

Someone suggests going outside, and the rest of us agree, eager to break the sudden tension. You and I walk side by side, happily discussing our favorite TV show. You cry out with random quotes from the latest episode, and I laugh, correcting the small errors you make. We continue our conversation until we get outside. Then, I race past you, leaping up onto a low wall, and stretch my arms out for balance.

You laugh and bound forward to join me on the wall, refusing to let me be taller than you for even a second. We walk around the edges with our arms out wide, as if we were small children pretending to be airplanes.

A few of the others sit on the wall, watching us with amused expressions. It doesn't take long for our game to grow old, though, and we soon take a seat as well.

You go back to doing impressions.

My eyes are trained on you, watching intently as you make the rest of the group laugh with your carefree attitude.

“Peter, what are your exact feelings for me?”

But more than that...what are mine for you?