Almost

Two boys.
One, planted next to me, was not mine.
The other, who was soon to be, was slumped over a table, directly across from me but turned backwards.
The turned backwards part confused me.
Was he angry?
Had he seen something and taken it the wrong way?
Why was I so worried?
Stupid teenage hormones.
Stupid teenage drama.

The boy next to me,
Was crushed.
Seeming okay, cool, calm, and collected, he ached on the inside.
The guilt was almost overwhelming.
But he hid it all so well,
I thought just maybe, it'd be okay.

But soon enough, I wrote an anger driven sentence.
He read it, and slumped over in his chair, face on the table, arms crossed underneath.
I glanced forward at the other, who had already assumed the same position.
Why did I do this?
What gave me the power?
I almost wish I could take it all back.
Almost.