Jayme's story. ((begining of a book im writing))

I felt someone walking behind me. I know that it is a crowded school hallway but it felt different. I slightly turn my head to the side just in time to see a guy in a black jacket and fadded cargo shorts brush by me and speed ahead. I smirked as I loked down at my phone absentmindedly. It was, of course, the ever popular, forever beautiful...boy who sits in the fourth chair, fourth row. I catch him looking at me in class alot, though I'm no size "0" blonde haired beauty. He never has talked to me before except "sorry" when he accidently touched my hair.
He's totally out my league and needless to say, cocky which is not my cup of tea. Sometimes I feel like he wants to start a conversation but never does. I dont know what that means but probably that I'm too beneath him. I always think, "well, maybe I'll ask him how to do this problem." or " I'll ask him if he did the homework before class." but I never really got the courage. I watched as he quickly sprinted to the door and violently slammed into it while stepping out into the blazing, blinding sunlight and disappear behind the corner, his shadow quickly following...

Writing

I am writing today on writing. Writing is a free way of letting out what is bursting inside. It can be expressed through pen and page, spray can and wall, paint and canvas... writing your own story is a sense of freedom that some things cannot compare to. Writing can express your true feelings when you are truely just writing. So write as much as possible to understand more about yourself than you ever knew before.