I know you. I sit at the back of the class, my chin perched on my fists and drink in your every move. I memorize your profile. Etched in my mind is your Roman nose and your wispy eyelashes blinking against the sunlight. I marvel at the even distribution of golden hair on your perfectly proportioned legs and how your shoulder blades and spine stretch your white Vuarnet T-shirt. I envy the lock of wavy hair that cradles your left ear, knowing its smoothness. Are you nervous? You have a habit of tapping your feet and chewing on a blue PaperMate pen. I wish I were that pen. How could…