He is at the end of the hallway.  His backpack’s straps are slung over his shoulder, but the body of the backpack sits against his chest, providing easy access to the contents.  He is searching inside for something, and you open your locker and pretend to shift books and change out notebooks. Slyly, you try to hide secret glances his way, but it’s like he can feel it, like he can feel your curious gaze from feet away, and he looks up.  You make eye contact, and you suddenly feel that if you were a hunter out in the wild, you would starve to death from never being able to sneak up on your prey – but the way he looks at you, the way he raises a brow and grins, the way he sticks out his tongue and you see a cold, metal glint, right in the middle, makes you realize that you have your roles reversed.