A/N: This is a strange little piece I did. It's weird, but I wanted to try it. I've been on hiatus for so long that I needed to whip out something fast. So I did. I'm so sorry I've been away – school and all that.
This takes place around third or fourth year, while they're still pretty young. James POV.
Hope you like it, and please do review!
I look at her once.
She's looking the other way.
I look at her twice.
Nope, still not looking.
People say I should stop.
I disagree.
I look at her three times.
I think she sees me.
She frowns.
She doesn't like what she sees.
Which is me, right now.
She looks over there.
She sees him.
He smiles.
Her face lights up.
She pays me no more attention.
I chuck a note at her when the teacher isn't looking.
She glares at me but opens it.
Hey.
I like you.
She writes something.
She chucks it at me.
I read it.
Hey.
I don't like you.
Her handwriting is nicer than mine.
It's a girl's writing.
Mine's chicken-scratch.
A guy's handwriting.
I write another message.
She's making goo-goo eyes at him still.
She's annoyed when my note lands on her desk.
She picks it up anyway.
She reads it.
Why don't you like me?
She writes something.
She sends it back.
I read it.
Because you're not my type.
I write another message.
I send it to her across the room.
She is very annoyed now.
I don't care.
She reads the message, despite everything.
What is your type?
The other guy's not too thrilled.
That's nice.
She sighs and scribbles something.
Her eyes look intense.
I like it when she thinks about me.
She sends the note back.
A gentleman.
I know this answer.
I brilliantly dispute it and send her the note.
I can't believe we're not getting caught.
We've perfected this art, her and me.
It's our thing.
We argue for hours like this a week.
Sometimes we do it in person instead of with paper.
She gets a kick out of arguing with me.
She doesn't get a kick out of my reply.
That's because she knows it's a good one.
Gentlemen are boring.
They don't go crazy.
I don't know why she goes for the dry ones.
It's like she's fighting her own nature.
Girls do that sometimes.
She sends me another note right away.
Gentlemen are polite.
They know what I want.
I smirk to myself.
For someone so smart, she can be clueless.
I send the note back.
The teacher, Flitwick, almost catches me.
He looks at her.
She smiles all angelic-like.
Flitwick turns around.
The class smiles to each other.
We all know this drill.
She reads my message and her smile darkens.
They don't know what you want.
They only know what they want.
The crazy ones are the honest ones.
They have nothing to lose.
The gentlemen do though.
She scribbles something back and sends it to me.
I open it up to see her writing more constricted this time.
Crazy people make messes.
Bad messes.
I send my message back.
Everyone likes some kind of a mess.
That's why crazy people are still around.
She sends hers back even faster.
I can be crazy sometimes.
I send it back.
And that's why I like you.
She blushes hard and catches my eye.
She looks scared.
The green of her irises are cloudy.
They're only cloudy when she's confused.
I can read her like a picture book now.
She crumples up the note and puts it in her pocket.
She looks away to the other guy there.
She looks at him long and hard.
He looks back at her.
I don't like the look in his eye.
But she does.
After class, she walks with him.
She doesn't even look at me.
On my way out, I look at her once.
She's looking the other way.
I look at her twice.
Nope, still not looking.
People say I should stop.
I never do.
I look at her three times.
And I get nothing.
She's turned a corner.
Now she's gone.